


No Good Deed

by accioambition



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Boats, F/M, Gen, I don't know, New York, and now im just one of the pack, and then cssns started, puns, there wasn't an abundance of werewolf aus when i started this, yeah man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 16:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16122533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accioambition/pseuds/accioambition
Summary: Killian Jones is a gentleman. He and his brother pride themselves on the matter, even if it ends with harm to them. So when an angry ex of Killian’s client bites him, he tends to the wound, watches it heal, and thinks no more of it.Until he wakes up in a closet on his ship with no memory of what happened the night of the full moon.Fleeing from the unknown, the brothers Jones find Storybrooke, and with it, Emma Swan, who is a lot more familiar with their situation than anyone could expect. And when an old foe comes to their new home, Killian has to rely on new talents to keep those he loves safe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hehe. Hello friends. Long time no see. Life has been a real whirlwind and I haven’t found much time to be on here. But I lurk, and I’m around, and I’ve missed you all. So I come bearing a gift of captainswanbigbang. It’s been a whole other experience this time around because of adulting, but it’s done and I’m happy with it.
> 
> Shoutout to Taylor, my beta, for all her hard work (I’M SO SORRY, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOUR TUMBLR IS, BUT I KNOW YOU’RE BANGIN), wellhellotragic for all of her amazing artwork (AND SHE WAS A MOD TOO), acute appendicitis for knocking me off my feet and giving me a solid amount of time to actually start this story, the-corsair-and-her-quill for making sure it got done on time, the entire Crazy Ex Girlfriend soundtrack, My Mix on YouTube, and the post from initiala that started this whole thing many moons ago. :)

Killian Jones leads a difficult life. At a young age, his mother became ill and passed away, while his deadbeat father abandoned him for drinks and cards. This left Killian and his brother, Liam, orphaned save for each other.

  
Since then and until he aged out of the system, Killian has either been in foster care or Liam’s shadow, depending on his current situation. Any minuscule reason could send Killian from his bedroom in Liam’s hovel, back to a group home. Luckily, he always stayed local so Liam could visit him during his time off, or Killian could sneak off to Liam’s when he wanted to see his brother.  


It’s taught him well, though, all the houses and bullies. He’s learned to be a survivor, because if anything, his experience in the American foster system has forced him to put himself first.

 

The clock hadn’t finished striking midnight on his 18th birthday when Killian waltzed into his brother’s apartment for the first time as an adult.

  
“Little brother, you’ve got to stay with the Franklins until-”

  
“Nope.” Dramatically throwing his bag on the floor, Killian sheds his jacket and kicks off his shoes. He makes his way to the couch and falls back on it with a sigh. “I’m 18 now, I’m an adult, they cannot do anything to keep me from being here.” A thought pops into his brain, unwelcome but still viable. He sits up, craning his neck to look at Liam, eyes wider than they should be. “Unless you don’t want me here?” he asks, gentle and scared like a little lad.

  
It’s a fair question: while he’s been raising Killian for years, Liam himself is still a young man. Nearly a decade older, he’s bound to have friends and lovers that Killian never really considered. Liam’s given up _everything_ for the two of them to stay alive and together as long as possible and here he comes, strolling in like he owns the place without considering the life Liam’s carved out for himself in the meanwhile.

 

Killian shrinks into the couch cushion and stares at the ceiling. There’s a stain above him and to the right, from that time he visited last month and opened a shaken soda against Liam’s better judgement. They’d both gotten soaked and sticky, but Killian hadn’t laughed to the point of tears in a very long time, making the mess worth it.

 

Liam’s right: he should have stayed with the Franklins until his brother came and got him tomorrow. He probably had a date tonight - _has_ a date - that he doesn’t need his annoying younger brother interrupting.

 

The hand on his shoulder makes him jump, Killian’s eyes flashing to Liam’s. He’s kneeling beside the couch, soft smile on his lips. The motion reminds Killian of their mother, of when they were sick and she’d sit at their bedside, reading to them and assuring them everything would be okay.

 

“Of course I want you here, little brother,” Liam comforts him. “But we are so close to being together for real that I don’t want to mess anything up.” He grips Killian’s shoulder tightly.

 

“They don’t want me,” Killian complains, flopping further into the couch. “I thanked the Franklins this morning and left them a note on my bed about where I was going. They know I’m safe. They won’t complain.”

 

“Are you sure?” Glancing toward Liam, Killian finds his eyebrow raised in question. “I don’t want them to have any possible reason to keep you away.”

 

(Always the rule follower, his big brother.)

 

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

 

“Well then,” Liam says, taking his brother's hand and pulling him forcefully up and off the couch. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

 

Despite his admittedly weak protests, Killian drags behind as his brother winds his way back to the room where he usually sleeps when afforded the luxury of staying the night. When they walk in, it’s barely recognizable: the last time he was here, Liam had cardboard boxes of stuff piled up to nearly his height. Those boxes are gone, instead replaced with drawers and a bookshelf. There was a mattress - only a mattress - on the floor that Killian was more than happy to sleep on, but the mattress now sits on a frame, the bed made unfailingly.

 

“What the hell, Liam?” Killian asks. “What happened to all the stuff from last time?”

 

“You’re looking at it.” Wrapping an arm around Killian’s shoulder, Liam gestures at the room. “I’ve been stocking up real furniture for eons, but I didn’t have a place to hide it except in the boxes it came in.”

 

“When did you have time to build this?”

 

“I asked a couple of the guys down at work to help out on their weekends off.”

 

Liam puts his hands on his shoulders and turns Killian to face him. “Look, Killian, I know it’s not much, but you’ve got a proper room here. This is your home now and I hope it feels like it.”

 

Killian nearly knocks him over when he embraces him, caught off guard by the emotions he’s feeling. They’re finally together, for real, after all of the trials and tribulations, and Liam’s worried that Killian doesn’t like some furniture. It’s insane.

 

“Thank you, brother,” he mumbles into Liam’s shirt. “Thank you for everything.”

 

“Happy birthday, little brother,” he whispers back. “Let it be the first of many to come.”

0000

After allowing him time to adjust - his elder brother isn’t completely cruel - Liam decides that Killian needs to start pulling some of his own weight.

 

“I understand that you’re young, Killian, but if you’re going to live here, you need to help out,” Liam tells him on the tenth morning of him waking up at noon. “Find a job, make dinner, do something with your life.”

 

As they used to do as children, Killian finds himself wandering down by the water, contemplating what contribution he could make to their life together without the soul-sucking monotony and boredom he’d felt in school and the group homes. Fate slaps him in the face with the answer quite literally: a gust of wind comes from nowhere, blowing some of the papers from a man further down the dock straight to his face.

 

The man’s tall stature makes the scene humorous: the poor bloke’s nearly bent in half trying to grab as many papers as he can in one swoop of his arms. His hair is scraggly, like the man spends too much time in and around seawater and doesn’t bother to shower afterwards. Whoever the man is, he’s obtuse both in manner and appearance. Killian makes his way over to the man, picking up ads as he goes.

 

“Pardon me,” he says, handing the man the wayward papers he’d collected, “are you the contact on this sheet?”

 

“Yes,” the man responds, his voice deep and unsure.

 

Killian chuckles, the noise ecstatic at the turn of luck. “If you’d be willing to be patient, I’d like to apply.”

 

The man raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “You’d want to clean the decks of tour boats?” he asks incredulously.

 

“Yes sir. The ocean is my home. I’d do anything to work on it.”

 

Nodding sagely, the man offers his hand. “Thatch. Ed Thatch,” he offers.

 

Firmly gripping Thatch’s hand, Killian introduces himself, “Killian Jones.”

 

“You come at sunrise tomorrow and we’ll start teaching you the ropes, aye?” Thatch says.

 

“Yes sir,” Killian agrees with enthusiasm. “Thank you so much, sir.”

 

With a final wave, Thatch heads to the marina office, probably to post a paper to a community board and leave the rest for those interested to pick up. Killian, however, heads back home, a spring in his step and the desire to skip down the sidewalk looking a bit like a madman. He bangs open the door to the apartment carelessly, far too happy with how things have turned in his favor.

 

“Liam!” he shouts. “I’ve done as you asked and gotten a job!”

 

Appearing from the kitchen, Liam says, “Congrats! What sort of slogging do you have to do?”

 

“I’m cleaning the decks of tour ships crossing the Hudson,” Killian announces proudly, throwing his jacket toward the rack and completely missing. He doesn’t care one bit, though he knows he’ll come back later to hang it up properly.

 

Brows raised, Liam asks, “Really?”

 

“Yeah,” Killian says slowly, hesitant. “What? You told me to get a job and I did.”

 

“You could’ve gone to the Starbucks five blocks away. The laundromat across the street.” Liam points in the directions of the locations, his voice getting more and more irate. “But down on the docks?”

 

Killian shrugs. “It’s by the water,” he says as clarification.

 

“Yes, where bodies go missing and show up three weeks later.” Rubbing his forehead, Liam sighs and begins to pace. “Killian, I don’t think it’s safe for someone your age to be down there.”

 

“Why not?” Killian asks. “I’m an adult. It’s no different than if you were down there.”

 

“Yes, it is.” Liam stops stalking through the entryway, glaring at him.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you’re just a kid.”

 

“I’m 18, Liam!”

 

“But you’re my little brother!” For some reason, his brother’s words shock him. Killian knows that Liam means the best for him, but Killian, having grown up quickly due to foster care, knows what’s best for himself. Sighing, Liam rubs his forehead. “Look, Killian, we’re all we’ve got. I just got you back from the system. I know you want to help out, but you've got to find somewhere else to work.”

 

“No.” Killian is stern and unmoving in his decision. Thatch wouldn’t have lost those papers, the wind wouldn't have blown them his way if it weren’t meant to be. The water calms him. It all makes sense. It’s exactly where he needs to be. “Liam, trust me. I’ll be fine. This is the right move.”

 

Seeing his brother’s concern written all over his prematurely aged face, Killian approaches him and grabs his arm comfortingly. “I promise. I’ll be safe,” he pledges.

 

Sighing, Liam looks downcast. “I don’t like this,” he grumbles, heading back to the kitchen.

 

“I know you don’t.”

 

“Well, as long as you know that.”

 

Chuckling, Killian jokingly hits him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you won’t let me forget it.”

0000

Killian does his best to make his brother proud, to prove him wrong. The docks aren’t a completely bad place and it’s totally fine for a water-loving lad his age to be working there. With every move up the ladder Thatch grants him over the next couple months and subsequent years, Killian comes home and, like the adult that he’s becoming and then is, he sticks his tongue out in Liam’s face.

 

“I hate to utter those words once more, brother,” Killian says, shit-eating grin across his face.

 

“How have you proved me wrong today, little brother?” Liam asks, smiling.

 

Killian opens the fridge and holds out a beer for him. “You’re looking at the new captain of the _Jolly Roger_ ,” he proudly says. Liam barks out a laugh, taking the proffered drink and clinking their necks together. With drinks still in hand, his brother wraps his arms around Killian’s neck and squeezes him tightly. Returning the gesture, Killian has never felt more satisfied than when he whispers, “I told you so” into Liam’s ear.

 

Seven years after initially moving in together, the brothers Jones have done nothing but thrive. Liam settled comfortably into the New York police department as Killian rose through the ranks, becoming Thatch’s right-hand man at a startlingly fast rate. He swabbed the decks of all five of their tour boats for months, learning small things from other sailors, from the captains as they came and went. It wasn’t until a stormy afternoon when Killian had to relieve a seasick Smee, the _Jewel of the Realm_ ’s current captain, that Thatch rewarded him. With passengers aboard and the water too choppy to return back to the New York dock, Killian took over, steering the ship safely to New Jersey. Enough of the passengers must have commented or complained, whatever the case, that Thatch decided to do something about it.

 

The thing is, at first, Killian thought he was being fired.

 

As he was clocking out for the evening, Killian was summoned into Thatch’s office by the man himself, his voice thundering and intimidating.

 

“Jones!” he shouted. “Get your ass in here!”

 

Timid, Killian replaced his time card and shuffled his way through the office door. He was tired and wanted to go home, not deal with his employer, especially when he hadn’t a clue what the outcome of the conversation might be.

 

(He had a vague idea. It wasn’t good.)

 

Thatch sat hunched over his desk, hair still as unkempt at the day they first met on the docks. He’d grown a bit more elderly - grayer at the temples, more wrinkles around the eyes - but he was still as strict as Killian's first morning on the water.

 

“Sir,” he started, “I swear on my mother’s life, I just wanted best for all involved.”

 

Looking up from the work on his desk, Thatch squinted at him. “What are you on about, Jones?” he asked angrily.

 

Killian checked over his shoulder, thinking perhaps that Liam or another man with the Jones surname stood behind him. Confused even further when he found no one, he furrowed his brows. “Did you not call me in to reprimand me?”

 

“Reprimand?” Thatch glared at him before bursting into raucous laughter. “I’m trying reward you, numbskull.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

Thatch’s laughter faded away, leaving him settled comfortably in his office chair. Adrenaline leaving his muscles and making him much more exhausted, Killian sat in the seat in front of Thatch’s desk. He set his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, and breathed deeply, calming himself further.

 

“Killian, my boy,” Thatch said kindly, “you’re the best man I’ve got in this marina. I’m not getting rid of you even when you’re dead.”

 

Chuckling, Killian glances up. “That’s a tad morbid, sir, don’t you think?” he inquired.

 

He rested his clasped hands on his pile paperwork and leaned forward. “You’ve grown into a man before my eyes. A _good_ man,” Thatch emphasized. “You’ve worked hard and you saved me and this company a handful of lawsuits, I’m sure.” He stood and came around the desk, arm stretched before him. Not trusting himself to speak, Killian took and shook his hand wordlessly.

 

“The most important, but not the only, reason I’m making you the _Roger’s_ captain.”

 

Killian’s jaw physically dropped. “Captain?” His voice was far too high, but given that the air had recently evaporated from his lungs, he was sure he’d be forgiven.

 

Thatch nodded, smiling. “You showed true skill and instinct on the _Jewel_ the other day. The _Jolly Roger_ is yours to command.” He yanked Killian into a manly hug, clapping him on the back and pushing him away. Killian was just beginning to laugh at the news when Thatch dismissed him with, “Now get out of my sight.”

 

Killian more than happily did, rightfully pompous and proud as he made his way home to his brother.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH THINGS ARE HAPPENING  
> As always, muchos gracias to Taylor (who I've since learned is also known as killiarious on tumblr) for her beta-ing, wellhellotragic for her art (IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL I CRY), and the mods at CSBB who know what they're doing and get me sucked into this project each and every time. :)

Captaincy is an interesting change in pace. It’s a lot of responsibility that Killian has never been entrusted with before, but he’s on the water, in the place that makes him happiest, and he’s getting paid to share his love of it with the locals and visitors.

  
(They all get a kick out of the ferry named for a pirate ship.)

 

Smee, the captain whose weakness allowed Killian to take the reins on the _Jewel_ , decides to take a step back himself, and allow himself to become Killian’s second in command in order to mentor him on the _Jolly Roger_. It’s not necessary - Killian’s learned in the tomes of books he’s read since starting mopping the decks.

 

Still, Killian more than welcomes the guidance and the company. He’s been around these specific ships for years, but everyday, there’s still something that comes up or a question that a crew member asks that he doesn’t quite know the answer to yet. Having Smee around is a blessing, though he bumbles and stutters through his responses more often than not. In the end, he does come up with a response that makes sense.

 

He’s spent nearly a year in the charge and at the helm of the _Jolly Roger_ as her captain on the brisk and lovely morning that Killian’s life changes. Lady Liberty overlooks the city from a distance, as she always does. Killian sends her a wink as he makes his way down the wharf. He’s busy preparing the _Jolly Roger_ for one of a handful of daily crossings over the Hudson River when a cough interrupts him from tying a knot about a pole.

  
He turns around to find a woman with hair flying crazy in the breeze. There are dark circles beneath her eyes, that’s the first thing Killian notices. She keeps brushing her hair out of her face with the hand not clutching on to a small child at her side.

 

“Apologies, milady,” Killian says by way of greeting, his grip on the rope slacking, “but if you’d like to take a trip across the river, you’ll have to purchase fare on land, at the kiosk you passed.”

  
Instead of doing anything with that information, the woman brushes her hair back again and then offers her hand.

 

“Milah Gold,” she introduces herself. Then she pulls her son closer to her side. “This little guy’s named Neal.”

  
Killian, a bit put off, shakes her hand, but the manners his mother and brother hammered into his psyche take over. “Captain Killian Jones,” he offers. Cocking a brow and squinting a bit, Killian hesitates before adding, “If I might be so bold, you seem a bit frazzled.”

  
This woman - Milah - chuckles kindly. “It’s not bold if it’s true.” The wind picks up for a minute, causing the boy beside her to shiver. For a moment, she squats down to pull his jacket tighter around his neck. Then, standing, Milah shakes her head as if to focus herself.

 

“Look, I’m in a bad situation with my husband. It’s not safe for my son to be here.” She turns back toward land, to the skyline of New York reflecting the sun almost directly into their eyes, then back to Killian. “I’ll pay you, of course, but we just need to go and soon.”

  
Killian nods, finishing securing the rope on the boat. He hops down from his perch to the deck, and from the deck down the gangplank to Milah’s side on the docks. Cautiously, he rests his hand on her upper arm.

  
“Yes, of course,” he says gently, his words nearly blown away with the wind. “Whatever to help a lady and her boy in need.” Killian smiles down to Neal, the lad’s shoulders hunched up to his ears in the breeze. His hand still on her arm, Killian ushers Milah and Neal back down the docks. “Let’s go get a pair of tickets then.”

 

It’s still early enough that the kiosk run by the assistant harbor manager remains closed. Naturally, Killian sneaks in through the back, jiggling the knob, much to Neal’s delight. Once in, Milah trades him cash for two one-way tickets to the New Jersey side of the Hudson. She hands one to her son, the beginnings of relief flooding her body, as Killian counts the bills. He counts, and then recounts, and counts one more time just to be sure before he hands nearly $150 back to Milah.

 

“You’ve given me too much,” he tells her, holding out her change.

  
But Milah shakes her head vehemently. “That’s for you,” she says. “Just…” Trailing off, her mouth hangs open for a moment. “Can you keep it a secret? Our little trip?” she asks.

  
Inclining his head a bit, Killian agrees. “If that’s what you wish.” He puts the money for their tickets in the register and slips what’s left in to his pocket.

  
“It is.” And with that affirmation, any tension left in Milah left her on a heavy sigh. One hand still gripping Neal’s, she reaches the other out to Killian, winding their cold fingers together. She squeezes it, a grin much less painful than any others he’d seen decorate her face so far growing across her lips. “Thank you, Captain Jones. You’ve quite possibly saved our lives.”

 

Her words strike him as odd. He understands that she needed an escape when they first met a couple minutes ago, but he had thought it was more along the lines of a day trip. From her reaction, her relief, Killian begins to think that something more serious is plaguing her.

  
“Do you need anything else? Any other sort of help?” he inquires, trying not to pry but ultimately falling prey to curiosity.

 

Milah shakes her head again, letting her hand fall back to her isde. “No, you’ve done more than enough.”  
  


“Are you quite sure?” Leaning in so that Neal wouldn’t overhear - Killian hasn’t an idea as to what the lad might know about his and his mother’s current situation - he whispers in Milah’s ear, “Do you want me to call the authorities?”

 

But again, Milah responds in the negative. Killian nods solemnly, a small but concerned smile on his lips. He gestures toward the docks, back to the _Jolly Roger_. “Your tickets are good for any of today’s crossings. Whenever you’re all settled on this side of the river, I’ll be more than happy to see you to the other side.”

 

“Thank you, Captain Jones,” she says, her voice breathless with relief. Her shoulders sag and Milah pulls her son in to a tight embrace. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

 

Killian inclines his head, a kind smile on his lips. “It’s more than my pleasure.”

 

He watches them walk into the morning shadows of the city, the skyscrapers’ swallowing them whole, growing ever more curious about their story. He thinks of inquiring further when he spots them walking down the docks again toward the end of workday rush hour. Milah smiles at him, readjusting the duffle bag over her shoulder with one hand and holding her son’s hand in the other. Neal pulls his rollaway behind him - it’s easily twice the size of him. Killian offers to carry the bag to the luggage hold, knowing the lad can’t carry it, and ushers them to the seating area on his way. After securing it, Killian heads to the helm, and manages to keep an eye on the pair from his post at the wheel for the entirety of the trip.

 

As soon as the ship pulls away from the moorings, the ropes piled up along the rails and the horn sounding in warning, Killian can tell Milah begins to cry. She’s not dramatic, but understated, as she has been since they met this morning. He notices the slight stutter in her shoulder cadence, the frequent brushing at her cheeks. It subsides the further away from Manhattan they get and when Killian makes sure to personally escort them off the ship, Milah shows barely a trace of her tears.

 

“Thank you again, Captain Jones,” she says, pulling the handle of the rollaway up. “I know it’s not enough, but you have to know how important this is.”

 

“Helping a lady in need is all the gratitude I need,” he confesses. He holds out his hand for her and, once she sets her duffle down, Milah takes it. They shake and Killian pulls her hand up to his lips, pressing them to her knuckles. “If there’s any other way I can be of assistance, you know where to find me.”

 

Milah grins, taking her hand away and grasping once more for her son’s. She doesn’t say a word as she leaves, but Killian knows that she’s much safer on this side of the river, and that fact will help all three of them sleep a little more soundly tonight.

0000

The first few days after his encounter with Milah are filled with thoughts of her and her boy’s wellbeing. Did they have somewhere to sleep after leaving the docks? Was there someone meeting them on the other side? Are they actually safer in Jersey than here?

 

There’s no one to voice his concerns to, not even Liam, because Killian had promised to keep their voyage a secret, so he’s left to stew in his worries alone. Belatedly, he wishes he had asked for her number, if for no other reason than he could text her to make sure they’re doing well.

 

Instead, all he can do is hope for the best.

 

Eventually, Killian returns to his daily routine sans worry for Milah. Early mornings, sea spray, shouting orders. Occasionally, he’ll see a woman board with dark waves like hers and he’ll spare a moment to think of her. Contemplate whether she’s found work yet and if Neal is enrolled in a new school. Whether their entire lives were tucked into those two bags they carried with them or if Milah had had the forethought to send things ahead of them. And then Smee will call time to depart, or Rob will tell him of a frayed rope, and she disappears from his mind in the blink of an eye.

 

It occasionally puzzles him, what exactly she was so afraid of, until one chilly night when Killian runs into the reason. Gus, the night captain, waves Killian away, his shift over and exhaustion from the day’s journeys overwhelming. He chuckles at a grumpy noise Peter makes as he also disembarks.

 

“Rest up, m’boy,” Killian says, clapping his coworker on the shoulder. “We’ve got to do it all over tomorrow.”

 

Continuing his grumbling, Peter shakes Killian off and saunters off to the mainland. Killian’s soon to follow, though he’s got to turn in his captain’s report with Thatch in the office. It won’t take long, but it’s an amount of time that’s keeping him away from his bed, his sweatpants, and a nice cold beer.

 

He makes swift work of his final chore, report nicely filed away in the appropriate folder, and Killian leaves the office until tomorrow morning. Deciding to take the scenic route home, he leaves through a side door and down the alley. Few other figures are out and about at this hour, most people already at home or those further inland heading there. There is one other person, though, in the alley with Killian. He’s walking toward the water, opposing Killian’s stride toward the subway station. The figure is short, somewhat crumpled in on itself. Light is few and far between, street lamps from an adjacent road only illuminating a couple spots, but as Killian and the man get closer, the hairs on the back of Killian’s neck rise.

 

The man’s supporting his weight on a cane, his walk more of a hobble than a stride. Another strand of light shows grumpy features: scowl, frown lines, furrowed brows. His eyes are forward facing, void of any sort of emotion. All together, Killian gets the strong impression that this man might be a troll or some other sort of fantastical creature of lore.

 

His inner monologue struggles: should he speed up past the man and hope no trouble comes of the matter or should he embody good form and ask the man if he needs any assistance?

 

Despite his better instincts, Killian comes to a stop in front of the man and asks, “Do you need a bit of help, mate?”

 

Something flickers to life in the man’s eyes. He crinkles his nose and sniffs. And then the fire consumes him.

 

“You,” the man says accusingly, a craggly finger accompanying a deathly glare. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

 

“My apologies, mate, but I haven’t an idea as to what-”

 

“Milah always leaned toward a youthful hunk in her time of need,” the man growls, inching closer. There’s menace in his gaze and as much as Killian thinks himself invincible and menacing, it frightens him. “She came down here and asked you, didn’t she? My wife?”

 

Ah, so this was the husband Milah spoke of. Observing the imp of a man quickly, Killian can’t quite see what would draw a woman of her beauty and charm to this type of man. He’s short, yes, but moreover he seems sickly, thinner than healthy and walking with the help of a cane. How this man could keep up with the liveliness his wife gave off, let alone his young son, is a mystery.

 

Darkness washes off Mr Gold in waves that could drown a weaker man. He’s angry - drunk abusive husband kind of angry. Now Killian can see why Milah had asked for privacy on the matter of her and her son’s departure.

 

Remembering his promise, Killian falls back into a persona that’s only seen the dark walls of bars. During the night, especially in his youth, Killian fancied himself a pirate. To impress women, he’d say he worked on the water, a ship of his own to captain. He never really mentioned that his ship was a ferry; instead, he’d skirt around that fact and lead his conquests to believe he was a pirate. With his leather jacket, a clip-on earring, and a little bit of eyeliner around his eyes, the image usually held up, so long as he kept a certain amount of swagger and charm up.

 

He turns it on now, smirking and relaxing despite the nerves coursing through his veins.

 

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific, mate,” Killian says, knowingly egging this man on. “I’ve _helped_ many a man’s wife, if you catch my understanding.”

 

The man stares at him for a second, and then life seems to speed up indefinitely. Killian doesn’t have enough time to process the scene that unfolds before him - left reeling from a punch to the face, then Mr Gold bounding and pouncing toward him - before a searing pain strikes him. Bloody fuck, it hurts. He’s bitten him, Gold’s face in close proximity to his fist, spit and blood on his chin. The man nearly took a chunk out of his left arm, physical teeth marks oozing blood.

  
“What the fuck?” Killian shouts, gripping his injury and feeling the blood spread between his fingers.

  
Gold spits something from his mouth - presumably the first three layers of skin he’s just ripped off - and sneers. “You’ll regret this,” he growls. And, much like an imp, he disappears without a trace into the shadows around them.

 

The thought of chasing after him, of this attacker Gold, briefly crosses his mind, but the pain in his arm is far more pressing. Quickly, he jogs back to the office, his arm throbbing. He’s barely shouldered the door open before he’s grabbing the closest cloth. Wrapping the cloth around the wound, Killian’s back out the door, merely hoping the scarf he’d taken wasn’t someone’s precious keepsake. It’ll staunch the injury enough.

The jostling of the subway, the constant stopping and starting of the train, doesn’t do him any good, but it doesn’t do him much disservice. Every couple of stops, he lightly lifts of the edge of the scarf. The closer he gets to home, the more the fabric begins to stick to the wound. Encouraging as that may be, Killian hurries still to get home.

 

There isn’t much struggle in getting the door open, but Killian does wince as he kicks off his boots and struggles out of his jacket before hanging it up on the same hook he’s commandeered since he moved in with Liam.

  
“Brother!” he shouts. “Liam, I’m in need of your assistance!”

  
Liam strolls in to the living room from his bedroom, pajamas wrinkled as if he was well on his way to sleep. The moment he sees Killian clutching his arm, his eyes widen and his steps quicken. “What’s wrong? What happened?” he asks, gingerly taking Killian’s arm in his hold.

 

“Some lunatic bit me after my shift,” he explains. “I did as best as I could with what I could find in the office.” Wincing, Killian chuckles to himself. “Incidentally, the office really needs to resupply their first aid kit.”

  
“My gods, little brother.” Liam drags him into the bathroom, the clinical light flickering on and startling Killian. Pulling his arm closer, Liam inspects the injury, turning it this way and that way. Finally, he shakes his head, announcing, “We need to get you to the hospital. This looks like something serious and you haven’t an idea of what that man might be on or have.”

  
“Liam.” He’s trying not to whine, but frankly, father Liam is not the personality he wants right now. “Can’t you just flood the wound with disinfectant, wrap it up better, and we have a drink?”

  
Scoffing, Liam drops his arm and starts rummaging through the medicine cabinet. He doesn’t say a word until he makes a noise of discovery and brings a bottle from the depths. It’s only when the sting of antiseptic burns through the bite that Liam adds, “You think I wasn’t going to douse it first? What kind of elder brother slash torturer do you believe me to be?”

  
“The arse kind.” Killian inhales deeply through his nose. “Fucking Christ, Liam, what did I do to deserve this?”

  
“Haven’t a clue.” Blowing at the bubbles that come from the antiseptic to calm the pain, Liam asks, “What did you do to offend the man?”

  
Killian sighs. “I fear it would be bad form to share.”

  
Liam scoffs, his eyes rolling far back in his head. “The man took a bite of your arm like it was a Sunday roast, Killian,” he playfully reminds him. “He’s either a maniac or rabid. Either way, as your primary caregiver at the moment, I would like to have an idea as to what I’m dealing with.”

 

Briefly, Killian weighs the option of sharing Gold’s reason with his brother. He hadn’t explicitly promised Milah to keep her trip a secret, and if he were to tell anyone, his police department brother would be the person to tell. He could call over to Jersey, at least make them aware of the situation should any more trouble arise. Even on this side of the river, Killian could aid Milah and her boy.

 

“I’m sorry, Liam,” Killian finally decides, shaking his head, “it wouldn’t be good form.”

 

His brother is silent for a while, at first nodding his head to acknowledge Killian’s decision. “You haven’t gotten yourself tied up in anything shady down on the docks, have you?” he asks softly, patting at the wound.

 

It’s stopped bleeding, thank goodness, but even knowing it’s cleaned up, it looks rough. Liam’s eyes flash quickly to Killian, his grip tightening. “You’re obligated to tell me or I’ll get salt and rub it in the wound.”

 

“Christ, no.” Making some noise of disbelief, Liam leaves him sitting on the toilet lid, once more rummaging through the medicine cabinet. He comes back with some gauze and a roll of bandage tape. “Liam, trust me,” Killian insists. “I’m not doing anything I shouldn’t be doing. I was merely following your orders and some bloke didn’t agree with it.”

 

Liam’s hyper focused on wrapping up his wound, padding it down and securing it. The job done, Liam matches Killian’s gaze. “Alright,” he concedes with a sigh. It’s only one word, but Killian feels himself relax. He’s not saying it, but Liam believes him. This isn’t anything different than when he had fallen and skinned his knee as a child. Liam punches him softly on the shoulder and stands up, using Killian’s knees as leverage. “Take a couple of ibuprofen before you sleep. You should heal up nicely.”

 

“Thanks.” Killian observes his brother’s work. It’s a bit too tight for his liking, but he’d rather lose a little bit of circulation than an arm to infection gone wrong.

 

Shuffling back out to the hallway, Liam heads to the living room. Killian follows, rubbing at his arm. The two of them sit down on the couch, becoming one with the cushions. It’d be a long night for both of them. Or day, in Liam’s specific case. They could use a minute to breathe.

 

And a drink.

 

“Since I’m incapacitated,” Killian hazards, glancing over at Liam, “would you mind running down to the shop for a six pack?”

 

Liam chuckles. He pulls up his legs and sets them on the coffee table in front of them.

 

“Your legs still work?” he asks. Killian nods. “That’s what I thought.”

 

Killian groans and, after a moment, heaves himself up off the couch. He slides on a pair of shoes and a jacket and, just as he’s grabbing his keys, Liam shouts out, “Pick up one for me as well.”

 

“Bloody wanker” is Killian’s grumbled, less-than-intelligent response.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy friday friends! time for another update, literally just in the nick of time. :)  
> As always, muchos gracias to Taylor aka killiarious for her beta-ing skillz, wellhellotragic for her art that I aobsolutely adore and will properly praise this weekend properly, and the mods at captainswanbigbang who know what they’re doing and get me sucked into this project each and every time. :)

"Oy, Jones!"

 

Killian turns to see Gus running down the gangplank to catch him. He waits, though he's eager to get home, shower off today's grime, and settle down with a drink and the game of the night on the telly. In the few days since Gold’s attack, Killian’s been tired beyond belief. He’s also had more headaches, at least one a day, since the occurrence. It’s probably got something to do with the pills he’s downed to keep the pain of his bite at a minimum, or the lack of sleep caused by more frequent and vivid nightmares of that night.

 

All he wants to do is go home, but he waits for his coworker to catch up to him.

 

"I was hoping," Gus says, breathing deeply. Holding up a finger of pause, he bends over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. Killian does all he can to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the man's dramatic action - he's in fine shape, he shouldn't be this winded from a slight jog. When Gus finally believes himself to be ready, he straightens.

 

"Sorry. I was hoping you could cover me next Tuesday. It's the night shift, which I know you don't normally do, but my son placed in the science fair and I-"

 

Holding up his own hand in interruption, Killian says, "No worries, Gus. I've enough warning so I can stock up on sleep." Grinning, he holds his hand out for a shake, one that Gus gratefully takes part in. "Tell the lad good luck."

 

"With pleasure!" Chuckling to himself, Gus claps Killian on the shoulder. "Thanks, man. You're a lifesaver."

 

When the Tuesday in question comes around, Liam, the sodding fool, hands Killian a brown lunch sack as he's on his way out the door.

 

"What the bloody hell is this?" Killian asks. "I'm not in school anymore, or have you forgotten that?"

 

"It's dinner, you arsewipe," Liam explains, flopping on the couch. "Nothing's going to be open by the time you get hungry, so I made you a sandwich and threw in some pretzels if you get hungry in the meantime."

 

His brows furrowed and a slight frown on his lips, Killian unravels the opening of the bag to peer inside. As he said, Liam had packed a sandwich, a ziploc bag of pretzels, and what looks like some cookies wrapped in plastic.

 

"If I didn't know any better, brother, I would say that you have a heart."

 

Liam laughs, his head falling on the back of the couch. "It's been known to come to life every once in a while."

 

The television clicks on and Jeopardy appears on the screen as Killian throws on his jacket and boots. "You'll need your strength and wits tonight. Supposed to be a full moon."

 

"And what, pray tell, does that mean?"

 

"Crazies come out in droves." Killian's popping his collar when he catches Liam's eye. "And, you know, werewolves and such."

 

"Ah yes, such a prevalent problem in the post- _Twilight_ day and age," Killian quips. His keys jingle when he snatches them from the ring they rest on. "Alright, I'm off. Don't wait up."

 

"I won't."

 

“Thanks for caring.”

 

“Never a problem.” Killian’s scoff is overwhelmed by the slamming of the door shutting behind him.

 

The public transport ride down to the harbor is never been particularly notable. The occasional dancing crew or street musician sometimes serenades his ride, but at this hour, everyone is heading away from the water, for the most part. Sure, there’s a couple dressed nicely further into the car, probably heading down for a dinner cruise along the river. Everyone else has got families to attend to, laundry to do, errands to run before the shops close in Midtown.

 

Killian spends his time thinking mostly unconsciously on his wound. Especially as he comes up from the underground station, something about the sea breeze makes Killian scratch his injury a little more forcefully than he probably should. It's been hurting over the past couple of days, a soreness and itch that he attributes to healing, but currently is at its worst yet. The skin’s scarred over, flaked off, and knitted itself back together, but it's still obvious that the crazy man broke quite deeply into the skin. Frankly speaking, he should’ve probably gotten stitches, but Liam’s first responder skills seemed to the job well enough.

 

Still, he probably should have gotten it checked out. But, as he’s grown to do, Killian ignores it, jogging across the street in the last seconds of the crosswalk timer without a second thought. Thatch’s office window is alight, second story of the marina office building, one in from the corner. It’s a little quirk he’s picked up over the years, checking to see if the boss man was in and what the chances were of any surprise inspections or visits before setting sail. When that happened, Killian could always makes out his pacing figure in the lit window.

 

The windows are empty now, void of any person or object moving or otherwise. He’s safe from any surprise scolding for the night.

 

He strolls down the docks, head down as he makes his way past the line of anxious travelers. He walks up the gangplank, nodding to the lads in the crew he recognizes and the odd passenger whose boarded early due to age or disability. He’d stop to chat with them all, but he hasn’t the time. Gus’ men are good men, Killian knows that, or otherwise Thatch wouldn’t have hired them in the first place. Killian just doesn’t know them as well as he knows his own crew, and therefore can’t guarantee that they’d do all the tasks needed to safely get across the Hudson. With a final itch at his injury, Killian sets off to check all the stations, make sure proper switches are flicked and such before settling in at the captain’s wheel for the evening.

 

After checking everything and requesting his second in command for the night, Tom, double-check behind him, Killian waves at the man on the gangplank to let the line file on and find spots on board. He closes the door of the helm behind him, ready to get going. The lights are dimmer up here to make sure sailors can see whatever lies beyond the ship. Others’ faces only illuminate due to the dashboard lamps and button lights. Killian checks the place over quickly before opening up a window and waiting for the signal that the ropes were untied and secured.

 

It comes in and Killian pulls away with ease despite the darkness falling around them.

 

With a contented sigh, he sets course for Union City.

 

They make it over uneventfully the first time, and then they make the return trip without consequence. But the third time, as the saying goes, is the charm.

 

It comes on suddenly, his migraine. He's been known to have them on occasion, but they're usually more gradual, his body having courtesy enough to give him a wee bit of warning before his head feels like it's about to split in two. But this one strikes him harder than the rest: even the deck lights from passing vessels and the dull dashboard blinkers are too bright, the few thoughts in his own head are yelps and howls, and that thoughtful dinner Liam packed him is more than threatening to make a reappearance.

 

"Sorry, lads," Killian groans, the mere movement of the ship and the action of speaking worsening his condition. "I need to take a minute."

 

"Go for it, Jones," Tom says, "people aren't supposed to be that color."

 

Barely able to nod, Killian blessedly wanders below deck, off to find some secluded corner of the ship that's dark, quiet, and hopefully has something he can lay horizontal across.

 

He hasn't felt this ill in ages. The last time it was this bad, he must have been in high school and, though he retains his youthful glow, that was easily a decade ago. _Could it be food poisoning of some sort_ , he questions himself. Maybe Liam was finally sick of some of his more dickish tendencies and decided to off him.

 

When he finds a closet big enough for him to lie down on the floor, Killian is hobbling instead of walking. The clang of the closet door as it shuts behind him throws him to his hands and knees. For some reason, he looks up, his eyes caught by the light of the full moon shining through the porthole window above him. This light source - nature's nightlight, a guardian that used to calm him before closing the bedroom door and submerging a purely frightened Killian into darkness - seems to be the only one that doesn't bother his vision. _Curious_ , Killian thinks, before his stomach rolls and causes him to curl into the fetal position.

 

There might be something impeding him from laying down, but he's too far gone to even bother. Eyes closed, Killian focuses on his breathing, hoping that maybe settling that will settle the rest of him.

 

It doesn't work much.

 

He might fall asleep, but it's fitful to say the least. The strangest dreams plague him. They're animalistic in nature, but, for some odd reason, he's on the water. It's sort of calming: even in his subconscious, the water has that affect, makes him stop whatever he's doing in the dream and take a breath. Somehow, he can even tell it's the Hudson, the very body of water his physical body sails across. It's something in the scent, the dirt and oil and rubbish that New Yorkers and New Jerseyans constantly bash it with.

 

(He's never been a huge believer in dreams having hidden meanings, but the appearance of this water makes him at least contemplate googling it.)

 

When he comes to, Killian feels oddly refreshed. It feels like he's gone on a run, one meant rid him of all the excess energy he sometimes has, and his muscles are beautifully sore. He goes to sit up and then the pleasant feelings he's got start to disappear. His back is blessedly achy, and when he twists around to see why, Killian finds a loose nail right where his right shoulder blade was. That, and the floor of the closet he's for some reason still in is pure metal.

 

"That can't be good," he mumbles to himself, his voice hoarse speaking about the errant screw. Clearing his throat, he notices it feels sore, as if he's coming down with strep or something similar, or like he'd spent the evening before shouting imitating his favorite screamo band's top hits.

 

(He doesn't have one. A favorite screamo band.)

 

Shaking his head, Killian glances out the porthole window. It's bright, but not too much so. "Early," he says to himself. Liam's going to be worrying: Killian should've been home a couple hours ago. The ship isn't swaying anymore, meaning they must be docked, probably fueling up for the day's cross-river trips.

 

Going easy on his body, Killian stands, brushing his clothes off. Or, he should say, what's left of his clothes. His pants stop at the knees now, tatters dangling from the fabric. There's also a rather sizable hole near the seam of his crotch that wasn't there when he boarded last night. Killian grabs at his shirt. Half of his left sleeve is missing, the skin showing scratched up and crusted over with dry blood.

 

"What the -" Searching his surroundings for any clue as to what might have happened or who might have attacked him in such an odd manner, Killian sees something curious. As he approaches the door to the closet, his hand reaches out to trace what looks like claw marks, deep ones, in the grain of the door. "Bloody hell."

 

Everything after that seems a little bit fuzzy, or at least that's what he'll tell the psychologist he'll definitely have to see because of this incident. In the moment, Killian is disoriented, sure, but more so, he's hyper aware of exactly everything that happens to him: the smell of the diesel filling up tank, the face of everyone he passes. The bracingly cool feel of the Hudson as he stumbles getting off the gangplank and trips into the water. Sand and sludge greet his feet, the water pretty shallow, thankfully, and after a quick scan, Killian swims to the closest ladder unharmed. Dripping wet and even more confused, he makes his way down the docks and back to land. He doesn't have the patience to deal with public transportation and, at this hour, it's run is limited, so he calls for a Lyft.

 

(Thankfully, working on and around the water for so long has taught Killian to invest in waterproofing his phone. His wallet, however, and the other various small things in his pockets aren't so lucky.)

 

Once safely back in the apartment, Killian leans against the front door, his head tilting back and his eyes sliding shut. His breathing is harsh. When he tries to remember what happened last night, his memories fail him. He knows he wasn't feeling well, had told the lads that he needed a lie down to get rid of a migraine. And then waking up this morning. Something must have happened in between the two memories, especially taking in to account the injuries and state of his clothing.

 

"Killian? Is that you?" Liam's voice breaks him from the point of falling apart. It sounds like he's in the kitchen, meaning it's early enough for him to be getting ready for work, but not so late that his brother's rushing out of the house. That's comforting.

 

Pushing off the door, Killian heads toward his brother, asking, "What time is it?"

 

"What time is...?" Liam's scoff turns into a chuckle as he comes into view. He's fixing a cup of coffee, back to Killian. He's got his police department shirt on, yet hasn't changed out of his pajamas pants. "Little brother, where the hell have you..." Turning around, Liam trails off. Killian can see his eyes widen. Placing his mug carefully on the counter, Liam rushes up to him. "Killian, what the bloody hell? Are you alright?"

 

"Am I alright?" Killian laughs at the notion. Gesturing wildly, he adds, "Do I look like I'm alright?"

 

Liam's hands inspect the scratches on his arm, then frantically search the rest of his skin for marks. He finds some on his other arm, and even more on his neck, face, and calves. "What the fuck happened, Killian? Did you get in a fight?"

 

"No!" Running a hand through his hair, Killian sighs. He can feel his pulse speeding up again, and an irrational sense of anger and frustration wells up in him.

 

"Move," he growls at Liam. His brother takes a step back and watches him cautiously as Killian begins to pace.

 

When he calms down a bit, is more able to string words together sensibly, Killian breathes deeply and stops in front of Liam. "I don't know what happened," he tells him. "I was feeling ill around eleven, so I went to one of the closets to rest and I woke up this morning looking like this."

 

Liam's brow arches. "You woke up this morning in one of the closets looking like a drowned rat and smelling like sun-baked shit?"

 

"Ugh, no," Killian says, shaking his head emphatically, "I fell in the river trying to get back home."

 

Shrugging his shoulders, Liam makes a noise of understanding.

 

Killian grasps his brother's arms, forcing him to pay attention and focus. "Liam, I think something's wrong with me."

 

"I would be more concerned if you didn't believe there something to be wrong," he says.

 

Releasing himself from Killian's hold, Liam places a hand on his brother's shoulder.

 

"We'll figure it out together, little brother, worry not." He gives him a comforting smile and squeezes his shoulder gently. "But let's get you in the shower and then dressed in something clean. Then we'll figure out the rest in time."

0000

Confusion and slight trauma of blacking out aside, Killian recovers for the entire experience quite well. Nothing a shower, some sleep, and a bottle of rum couldn’t solve.

 

When he comes back to the _Jolly Roger_ after a day off, Thatch, Gus, and the rest of the men welcome him back as if nothing had happened. They were worried for him, sure, but they thought he’d been struck by a bad 24 hour flu.

 

Killian asks Tom, Rob, and everyone else who was on the ship with him that night. All they could recall was him going down below complaining of a headache. No one saw him leave the ship, yet didn’t question it because, as captain, he was often the last one to leave as it was. No one checked on him, figuring that he would be angry if they woke him or would appreciate the chance to rest. It’s a wee bit disconcerting, but at least Killian can argue that his crew is thoughtful enough of his well being.

 

A few weeks go by with nothing unusual to report. Life goes on and on. Killian keeps reporting to the _Jolly Roger,_ each time pushing away the concern of his blacked out night. Liam keeps his shifts at the station, sometimes staying on duty over 24 hours to follow that ‘good form’ he drilled into his younger brother. It’s not very often they get to share a meal together, but when they do, it’s over DVR-ed games and alcohol.

 

It’s the night before one of those nights - Killian’s off for the next couple days, but Liam’s working on his last graveyard shift of the week. Tomorrow, they’ll be able to spend the day together, or at least the afternoon depending on how late Liam decides to sleep, for the first time in a while. The forecast calls for rain - torrential downpours at times - so the chances of them spending all of their time in pajamas, probably unshowered, and a questionable amount of alcohol is quite likely.

 

Killian’s already preparing for it.

 

For his last night of solo freedom, he’s conquered the couch, sitting in the middle cushion and sprawled out. No cares. Chinese food on the coffee table and a beer in hand.

 

Save for the slight headache grinding his brain, the night is pretty perfect.

 

He’s zoned off enough to only catch the tail end of the local weather report, the meteorologist warning of thunderstorms and higher tides due to the full moon.

He rolls his eyes at the weather report, and instead, settles on a rerun of Friends, something familiar, funny, and mindless. If he falls asleep - a likely outcome, given the growing severity of his headache - he won’t feel like he missed out on anything.

 

(Liam never liked watching Friends, he was always more of a Seinfeld person, so that’s an additional reason to get in an episode while he can do so without complaints.)

 

Idly scratching the scar left Gold left behind, Killian relaxes on the couch, fixing his feet on the table. He takes a sip of his drink as one of the characters begins complaining about her hair. Throughout the first episode, he closes up his dinner and lays down on the couch. On about the fourth episode, his eyes begin to droop, his headache unwieldy. He stays conscious long enough to turn the volume almost all the way down, hoping that will help soothe his aching head, before fading off to sleep.

 

Shooting awake an hour and a half later, pain wrecks his entire body. Killian can’t help it: he howls. His headache is wreaking havoc, somehow having gotten worse as he rested. The grinding has evolved into pulsations and mumbling, incoherent voices and questions unanswered. His muscles feel like they’re ripping apart, the pain manifesting in another, longer howl. Waves hit him, radiating from his wrist, right where Gold bit him. The voices and noises he hears are getting louder by the minute. Thank gods Liam was working that night, though the same can’t be said for their neighbors. He’s definitely woken them: they might have already called the police or banged on their shared walls.

 

Despite his better judgement, Killian tries to stand from couch, immediately collapsing. His skin is too tight: he feels like he’s going to explode. His clothes already seem to be doing so, the seams of his sweatpants tearing and his shirt hanging from his shoulders.

He grasps for the coffee table, his fingers sinking into the wood like putty. His eyes shoot to his hand.

 

It’s not his hand.

 

Rationally, he knows it’s his hand, can feel the coffee table splintering beneath his grip, but it’s not his hand. It’s far too large, too hairy, too pawlike to even be human.

 

Pain ripples through him again, another wave curling him up on the floor. Whatever illness he has, or attack that’s struck him, is ending him. Killian is convinced this is how he dies, in the fetal position on his living room floor.

 

And then it’s done. The sinews of his muscles return to their spots. His organs have halted their threat of explosion. He is fine.

 

Except now his eye level barely reaches the top of the couch arm.

 

And something heavy hangs from his ass.

 

Panic starts to set in. Killian’s somehow shrunk, and the idea throws him off balance. He thumps into the couch seat, then slams into the destroyed coffee table. He looks down and, instead of seeing his knees and his bare feet as expected, he’s met with the floor.

 

And paws. Not paw-like hands. Paws.

 

His head whips over his shoulder. The heavy weight is connected to him, switching swiftly from side to side.

 

He’s got a tail.

 

“Oh fuck,” he says. But it doesn’t come out in words. It’s incomprehensible, something like a moan or a man without a tongue trying to speak.

 

There’s a banging on the ceiling that Killian can somehow differentiate from the nearly identical banging three floors door. It’s two couples having sex, the woman above him having a much more pleasurable time than the other. He’s not quite sure how he knows that, but he can pick up the hitches in her breath.

 

“FUCK!” Killian barks. An actual bark.

 

Before he’s sure he’s made up his mind, Killian’s barreling toward the front door. He needs to get out of here, but without opposable thumbs, he’s trapped. That flusters him even further, his tail wagging furiously and running him into the wall.

 

Killian tries to headbutt the door down to no avail. Anger floods him, brings a growl from the depths of his stomach in frustration. He pulls back, adrenaline coiling in the muscles of his legs, and jumps, throwing the whole of his body weight against the door. It budges, and with another, more forceful headbutt, the door gives, leading Killian to freedom.

 

He’s running: where, he knows not. Killian can already smell the dirt and garbage in the air from the stairwell. He hits the outdoors, the fresh air as stunning as the puddle of rain his paws splash in. The colors of neon business signs flash as he runs by them, the lights far too bright, and the noises he usually finds comforting enough to fall asleep to far too loud. He can hear the garbage truck six streets over, the drunk conversation in the pizza parlor on the corner of the block, the rumble of thunder rolling southeast. It’s overwhelming to the point of nausea.

 

That is until he reaches a wooded area. What little part of his rationality remains realizes he’s somehow made it to Central Park and over the fence. He’d made what was normally a 20 minute subway ride in maybe ten on foot. The pavement here smells differently, damp grass and dead leaves mingling and growing stronger in his nostrils. He slows down to a trot, his senses calming. He can feel his heartbeat slow, the adrenaline leaking from his muscles. The noises are quieter here, more natural. Nocturnal animals scurrying around in search of a meal. Zoo animals breathing deeply in sleep. The occasional couple passing on the outskirts of the park.

 

This is a side of New York no one really ever considers. Even as a self-professed New Yorker for life, Killian sometimes forgets how peaceful New York is at night, especially Central Park when it’s closed to the public eye.

 

It’s nice.

 

Breathing deeply through his nose, Killian lets out a contented sigh. A crack of wood to his left catches his attention, the noise far louder than he’s used to. It startles him. It startles him further when he can tell that, whatever creature broke the stick, is smaller than him.

 

And panicking because it knows it’s been heard.

 

Before he can realize what’s truly happening, Killian’s running. His breath comes hard and fast. His muscles stretch and contract more than he’s ever really realized possible. His legs feel stronger. There’s an ache in his shoulders he knows will be even worse come morning.

 

The animal’s a coyote, rare in the park, but not unheard of. It’s running, far and fast.

Killian’s faster.

 

He catches up to the creature in less than a half a mile, a good effort on both sides.

 

Unsure of killing it, Killian lets the animal in himself take over.

 

This primal side of him sated, Killian carefully ambles back to the apartment. He’s not quite sure what the hour is, but somehow knows it’s late enough to be considered early. He’s been out for far longer than he should have been. It’d be wise for him to watch where he strays. The last place he’d want to end this transformative night is the city pound, especially when he doesn’t know what might happen come sunrise.

 

(He hope he isn’t...whatever he is by sunrise. That’s put a damper in some plans.)

 

The front door is just as he left it, slightly unhinged, just as he feels. Killian crawls through the opening, his back bristling as the wood scratches his spine.

 

(Idly, he hopes he doesn’t have weirdly-placed splinters on his back tomorrow.)

 

The sun is barely peeking over the horizon, hardly shining through the grates of the fire escape outside the living room when he settles on the couch. He’s got nothing left to do but wait out this demonstration. Might as well catch up on some sleep while he does.

 

Killian nods off, only to come to when a noise pricks at his ears.

 

Someone’s coming up the building stairs. The gait is somewhat familiar, heavy.

 

They stop on his floor. Killian’s hackles rise.

 

The person stops short of the apartment door. There’s a brief scuffling, as if the person is looking around. In his throat, Killian feels a slight hum rising.

 

And then the door creaks open.

 

“Who’s there?” Liam’s threatening voice startles him and brings a growl from the back of his throat. Killian can feel the noise reverberate off the walls of the apartment. He hops off the couch and stalks toward the front door, hiding in the shadows of the couch.

 

When his brother comes into view, it’s a little unnerving. The door fully pushed in, much more wonky than it was when Killian came back earlier in the evening. Liam’s off duty, yes, but he’s still got his badge and his gun, leading him into the apartment. His eyes search the opening area quickly, methodically, until they land on Killian. Liam’s eyes go wide in shock, his arms falling slightly. He’s scared and Killian isn’t quite sure why.

 

And then Killian realizes: he’s the reason Liam is so frightened.

 

Coming out of the shadows, Killian cautiously approaches his brother, looking him straight in the eyes. When he’s within reach, he knocks his head against Liam’s knees, hoping that, somehow, his brother will get the message.

 

“Hoooooly shit,” Liam breathes. His eyes, if possible, go even wider. In an instant, his arms fall to his side and the gun goes back in its holster. His brother runs his hands through his hair, the exhaustion already on his face further emphasized with messy hair. He cocks his head for a moment, something like recognition washing over his expression, before asking, “Killian, is that you?”

 

Killian nods. There’s a weird sensation occurring on his head, high above his brows. He’s felt this sensation earlier tonight, but not enough for him to question it. New muscles are stretching behind him, and Liam’s voice becomes a wee bit fainter. His brother holds up his hands. “Don’t be afraid.” Killian tilts his head up to match gazes. Liam points at his head. “Your ears are back.”

 

Killian grumps. This weird body he’s inhabiting is so unusual. He already tends to wear his heart on his sleeve and now, it seems, his thoughts bubble up in his ears or his hackles. Killian stalks around the apartment, back toward the cushions and destroyed coffee table. Liam follows, as evidenced by his footfalls. Killian leaps onto the couch and sits, staring at his brother as he observes the damage inflicted.

 

“Christ alive, you’re a fucking wolf,” he mumbles. “What the fuck happened here?”

 

When he opens his mouth to explain, Killian is unfortunately reminded that his vocal chords aren’t as advanced as he’s accustomed to. His words come out as whimpers and grunts. With a groan, Killian rolls his eyes.

 

Liam chuckles. “Right,” he says, “I suppose you can’t really tell me anything that happened.” Looking around the living room, he must come to the conclusion that nothing more can be said - or barked - on the matter.

 

“Just tell me this. It’s a simple yes or no question. Are you okay?” Killian nods, his tail wagging behind him.

 

Nodding, Liam scrubs at his forehead and mumbles, “Go to bed, Killian. Or go to your bedroom. You don’t have to sleep, but I do.” Sighing, Liam stands, his joints crunching in protest. “Just stay in your room until morning and then we’ll discuss options.” He glances toward Killian once more. “Hopefully it won’t be as one-sided as this conversation.”

 

Killian watches as Liam heads to his bedroom. He hops off the couch and trots up to his brother’s side, his haunches coming up to Liam’s hips. Hoping his brother perceives it as the sign of affection it’s meant to be, Killian knocks his head against Liam’s knees again.

 

Liam chuckles, reaching his hand down to pat Killian’s head. “I know, brother,” he says.

 

“Don’t stress about things you don’t understand and can’t fix at the moment. Try and rest.” With a brush of Killian’s ears and a final pat to the head, Liam smiles tiredly and heads off to his room.

 

Following suit, Killian lopes into his own bedroom, bed still made from this morning and his sleep clothes still folded on the dresser. Unsure of what state he might be in come morning, all Killian can do is jump up on the bed, circle a spot in the center and plop down, his head resting on his paws. All he can do is close his eyes and hope that he can find some sleep and some answers tomorrow.

0000

A cold breeze wakes Killian. It runs over his shoulders, his bare back, and over his ass. He shivers so violently that his eyes shoot open and he inhales deeply and suddenly.

 

He’s caddywompus on the mattress, one foot hanging off one edge, a forearm and both hands hanging off the other. But they’re human hands, not paws anymore. Pushing himself up on his elbows, Killian takes a quick inventory. He’s naked, his clothes from last night mostly likely in tatters on the living room floor next to the destroyed furniture. He’s cold, yes, but goosebumps cover his skin, not his fur. All of his parts are in place and, save for a few scratches and bruises on his calves and arms, he’s unharmed.

 

Cautiously standing, his muscles scream from overexertion. Killian rifles through his drawers for some of his less-loved clothes just in case a repeat of last night occurs. Once clothed, he stretches further, reaching a high as he can and moaning.

 

Last night was interesting, to say the least. He remembers everything that happened, thankfully, and the migraine that preceded yesterday’s events has since disappeared.

 

That’s promising.

 

Shuffling out of his room, still a little disoriented, Killian makes his way into the kitchen. Liam stands at the counter, pouring out his own mug of coffee.

 

“Morning,” Killian grumbles, squinting at the light from the windows and the gravel in his own voice.

 

Liam glances over his shoulder with a chuckle. “Oh good,” he says. “I was wondering whether I’d have to go out and get some kibble for you, but it looks like you can find some breakfast on your own now.”

 

“Yeah, opposable thumbs are quite the invention.” He opens the cabinet and pulls out a coffee cup. He fills it to the brim before replacing the pot and taking a healthy swallow.

 

Turning to Liam, mug wafting steam up his nose, Killian asks, “How did you know it was me and not some stray dog?”

 

“Eyes,” Liam says solidly, pointing to his own. “I raised you, little brother. I’d know the family trait if I were blind.” Walking to the living room, Liam gestures for Killian to follow. He does, naturally, only to see the destruction from last night cleaned up. Liam sits on the couch as if nothing were unusual. “What happened, Killian?” he asks.

 

“I…” Clicking his tongue, Killian sits down on the other side of the couch. “I’m not quite sure. I think,” but that can’t be right, could it, “I think I ran to Central Park.”

 

Liam chokes, spitting his coffee messily back into his mug. “Excuse me?”

 

Killian shrugs. “It would explain the unhinged door.” The more he thinks about it, the more he’s sure that it’s the only logical explanation. “Yeah. The noises on the street, the lights.” He looks up. “It was a lot to take in.”

 

“What happened in the park?” Liam inquires.

 

“Nothing.” Eyebrows furrowed as he mentally reviews what he did, Killian tilts his head.

 

“It was quite lovely, actually. It was quiet and dark. I got to hunt. No one bothered me.”

 

“I should think not,” Liam says. “Did anyone see you?”

 

“I don’t know! I wasn’t paying them much attention.” He’s pretty sure no one saw him, though the more he ponders on the topic, the more concerned he grows. Matching his gaze with his brother’s, Killian professes, “We can’t stay here, Liam.”

 

“I agree.” Killian leans back against the couch arm, confused.

 

Liam shrugs, pointing toward the door. “What? You were a goddamn wolf mere hours ago! We live in one of the most populated cities in the entire world.”

 

Setting his cup down on the floor, Liam rests his elbows on his knees, fingers templed over his mouth. “Look, I know human you has a heart of gold, but how am I supposed to know that animal you won’t attack someone in the building or on the street?”

 

“I didn’t this time, did I?” Killian responds petulantly.

 

“Beginners’ luck, I guarantee it.”

 

“Technically, this would be my second time going through this transformation.”

 

“Killian, you don’t remember the first time this happened and you wrecked this place the second.” He has to concede: Liam does have a fair point. “Come now, let's get some food and then we can start looking for a new town.”

 

As his brother stands, Killian looks into his mug. The liquid is muddy, just like his mind. There’s so much running through it - transforming, ruining furniture, searching for a new home. He feels slightly hungover. Still, Killian hangs his head, bringing his cup down to his lap.

 

“I’m sorry, brother,” he apologizes morosely. His voice is soft, but he knows from years of experience that Liam’s listening.

 

“For breaking so much of this shitty furniture?” Liam asks with a chuckle. There’s a clink signaling he’s put his mug in the sink. “We’re due for some adult digs.”

 

“No, not that,” Killian says, standing himself. “You know how much I hated this table.” He makes his way back to the kitchen, pouring himself another cup unlike his brother.

 

“This is home. This is where we became a family again. This is our safe haven and I’ve ruined it.”

 

Liam’s shoulders sag as he sighs. “No you haven’t,” he replies, shaking his head. “We are home when we are together. Don’t ever forget that. The weather, the city, the blasted kitchen table might change, but our love for one another never will.”

 

His hand falls on Killian’s shoulder. He squeezes comfortingly, drawing his attention. “I love you, Killian. I don’t say it often, but I do. We’ll find a new place to settle and we will figure out this _Twilight_ thing of yours.” Lightly punching him on the arm, Liam laughs.

 

“This is the weirdest way to reveal which side of that fight you’re on.”

 

Killian scoffs, pushing his brother away. “Team Jacob for the win,” he says half heartedly. That makes Liam guffaw, bending at the waist to help get air in his lungs.

“Shut up. You’re only laughing because you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

 

“I won’t pretend to.” He’s still laughing as he heads back to his room. “Get yourself together. We’ve got a long day of finding a house ahead of us.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pssst. PSSST. imma let you in on a secret. that person you've been wondering about? the one where you're like, "i know they're going to show up, where are they, cmon, hurry up?" they're here in this chapter ;) but SHHHH.  
> as always, thanks a billion million gazillion to Taylor (killiarious) and Tragic (wellhellotragic) for all of the work that they've put into this. i feel like i haven't appreciated you guys enough because I know i haven't, and I'm trying to think of ways to repay that don't involve selling my soul. and another gajillion thanks to the mods at captainswanbigbang for all the hard work and blood and sweat and tears they sunk into organizing this.

It’s rough, finding a new place outside of a city so populated. Killian’s left mostly to himself to look at places with Liam pulling more shifts at the station. At first, they look at Brooklyn and other places nearby, somewhere, in theory, Liam could keep his position and commute. He even goes so far as to look at some apartments. But they’re too expensive and populated. Together, they decide to look elsewhere.

 

A lot of elsewheres.

 

It takes a couple tries - Boston’s still too populated, Savannah too hot, among a slew of other towns of varying sizes - before they finally head as far north as they can.

 

“Canada’s got lots of forests, right?” Killian asks, staring at a map of the eastern seaboard from the passenger’s seat. After Liam’s last pay-for-muscle job, they hopped in the car and started driving. “We could take a pit stop at Niagara.”

 

“We’d have to change citizenship,” Liam says practically, focused on switching lanes on the highway. He sighs as he looks forward. “Maybe we just drive up to Maine and call it quits when we stop for gas.”

 

Killian laughs. “Who are you? That’s far too spontaneous for my brother’s brain.”

 

Liam shrugs. “What can I say? Life on the move has spurned a wee bit of something in me.”

  
Settling into the seat, Killian folds up the map as best he can and takes to staring out the window. He watches other cars, trees and guardrails, the occasional billboard pass by. His transformation is coming soon - he can feel an inkling of it in his bones - and they’ve got to find somewhere he can run free without hurting anyone, especially his brother.

 

He briefly falls asleep and wakes up as Liam pulls into a gas station. The sun is setting over the treetops. When he looks around, Killian notices there’s not much else around. A stoplight a little further down the road, some quaint little houses and shops.

 

“Where are we?” he asks, voice groggy.

 

“Storybrooke, Maine,” Liam answers. “Welcome to our new home.”

 

They’ve found something of a gem in Storybrooke. A small town, for sure, but large enough to spawn something of a suburb and boast two completely different grocery stores. But that’s not the charm that solidifies Storybrooke as their new homebase.

  
Since both of them have worked with, in, and around water and the sea, it’s a bit of an unspoken agreement between brothers that they have to move somewhere with a harbor. It’s a remnant of their childhoods, what’s left of the memory of their father that left them and their mother in the lurch. Every Sunday, their mother would take them down to the docks and walk along them along the water. Killian couldn’t be sure, but he liked to think that she found a connection with her former husband in the horizon on the other side of the water. It’s a feeling that runs stronger in Killian’s veins than Liam’s, probably due to the fact that Killian was younger and more naive, unknowing of the pain and uncomfortableness that their father left behind as Liam did. Still, there’s a certain solace the sea provides the brothers Jones, tainted memories included. How would one know what happiness is were it not for the sadness that came before it?

  
Killian finds a new job as the harbormaster, in charge of all the comings and goings of ships and boats. It brings him a certain sense of peace, something he could never really find even when he sailed the ferry across the Hudson River.

 

Much to Killian’s pleasure, Liam seems to settle in better than he does, if possible. Of all the odd jobs he’s worked in his life, the ad in the newspaper for a sheriff’s deputy - no experience required, training paid for - is the perfect fit. He’s already bossy, a leader, and a natural rule upholder.

  
“Finally,” Killian exhales, his forehead all but slamming on the kitchen table in front of him. “Now others will see the tribulations of living under your dictatorship.”

 

Rolling his head from side to side, the closest movement to shaking his head in this position, a thought crosses his mind and causes him to groan. He sits up. “You’re going to be an even more pompous arse with that blasted uniform on, aren’t you?”

  
They live in what either of them can only describe as a hovel, but it’s a hovel of their own, in their names alone. There’s enough grass around them that they could consider it a yard, especially the first spring they live there, when a surprise crop of buttercups pop up from the earth. Out toward the outskirts of town, it’s got enough rooms to be considered spacious and for each of them to have their own personal space.

  
Privacy is a very important quality to have when two brothers live together, especially as Liam settles further into his place in town. The inclusion of Elsa in their lives is messy at first. She’s a lovely lass - a bit on the quiet side, but Liam looks at her like she hangs the sun, moon, and stars all at once. And she, in turn, provides his brother a confidante other than Killian himself. Elsa brings out a softer side of Liam, one that Killian hasn’t seen since they were children. Probably not since their mother died and his brother added “guardian” to his resume.

 

They meet after a rather unfortunate incident: Liam’s covering the night shift while Killian, still a little unsettled from his last transformation, pays a visit to the local bar. He takes notices of the gaggle of ladies in the corner of the bar, sitting around the table and gabbing. As the night rolls on, they get a little too rowdy. When one of them ends up dancing on the table, Killian sees the bartender shake his head and reach for the phone.

 

A few minutes later, Liam struts in. He nods at Killian when their eyes meet and Killian can’t help but chuckle at the slight relief he spots in his brother’s expression when he realizes his younger brother isn’t the reason he’s been called. Still, he goes up to the man behind the bar and, after a brief discussion, Liam heads over to the table of women. The woman who stands up to deal with his sheriff brother has platinum hair, plaited down over her shoulder. Her hands come up, her motions soft and calming as she separates her friends from Liam.

 

He can’t hear what the conversation is, but the women settle down and Liam can’t seem to stop smiling. The woman says something to her friends before walking to the bar with his brother. Liam calls over the bartender and a moment later, his brother and Elsa are indulging in their first drink.

 

The rest, they say, is history.

 

Killian’s never really a desire for another older sibling, let alone a sister, but Elsa makes him rethink the idea. She adds a domesticity there’s never really been in the Jones residence, but she’s got a quick tongue that surprises everyone, including her adversaries in the courtroom.

 

Elsa introduces both of them to Storybrooke society, mostly by introducing them to her social butterfly of a sister, Anna. She somehow calms them both down in heated situations, especially between each other, and she does it all without ever raising her voice.

 

She’s the best thing to happen in their lives - or at least the best for them since Killian aged out of the system.

 

Unfortunately, they still have to keep Killian’s secret from her. For own safety, Liam insists.

 

“Liam, she’s practically family now,” Killian argues in whispers. It’s a Thursday evening and Elsa’s come over for dinner. She’s in the bathroom at the moment and Killian’s worried. “She has the right to know, especially when the new moon strikes within a week.”

 

“She doesn’t need to know, little brother,” Liam fights vehemently. “I’ll stay over at her place, that way we’ll both be out of your way.”

 

The conversation is cut short due to Elsa’s return, but Killian can’t help rolling his eyes.

 

“Oh no,” she says quietly, placing her napkin in her lap. “What did I interrupt? I can go in the kitchen and find look at your alcohol collection until you guys sort this out.”

 

Taking her hand, Liam shushes her with a smile. “No, honey, that’s alright. My little brother just doesn’t understand why I want to spend some time at your place.”

 

Killian, really having no other choice, plays along. “I don’t understand why because you always come back complaining that Anna wakes you up at ungodly hours.” Looking down at his mostly empty plate, Killian grumbles, “Trust me, I enjoy the reprieve from nightly activity noises.”

 

Liam scolds him for his inappropriate comment while Elsa hides her giggles behind her napkin.

 

(She’s truly the best thing to happen to them in a long while.)

0000

With each passing lunar cycle, the pain lessens. It still burns as it takes over his body, but just as with any sort of exercise, the body grows more tolerant. Liam remains the only person to know of his affliction, a fact that Killian fights the closer Liam and Elsa get. His brother finds more and more unusual ways to keep his lady love and himself away from the Jones house during full moons.

 

When the weather is nice enough, Killian often excuses himself by saying he’s going camping. Elsa doesn’t blink an eye, and if anyone finds him in the woods in any state of dress, he can say he just had a hard night in the forest.

 

(The ripping of clothes is still a problem when he transforms. A couple months into this experience, one would believe he’d be better at it.)

 

Killian’s wolf self loves those weekends. No one has run into him in any form, and the variety of creatures running about in the woods pleases him to no end. While he loved every day of living in New York with his brother, Storybrooke has a magical quality about it. Perhaps it’s the forests or the appearance of Elsa in their lives. It could be the accomplishment of adulthood or the freedom this little town gives them. Any number of things might be the reason. Killian fears that pinpointing the exact reason would ruin the magic.

 

It’s funny how just one small moment can change one’s perception of magical places. Wolf or not, it hits Killian right between the eyes one day.

 

“Liam!” Killian shouts, the front door to the station slamming shut behind him. Things are quiet down at the docks, fog failing to dissipate as morning turned to afternoon and making sailing conditions too undesirable. He’s got his pile of paperwork down to a manageable level and with the weather as poor as it is, Killian figures that most people are too fatigued by the grey day to commit any sort of crime. So, as he’s prone to do on occasion, he comes to offer Liam an outing for lunch.

  
When no one responds immediately, Killian walks further into the precinct. He expects to see Ruby or Leroy, the receptionist and other deputy respectively, but both their desks are alarmingly empty. Walking past them, he heads to Liam’s desk, and once he finds it unattended as well, Killian makes his way to the head sheriff’s office. It’s boxed off with half glass walls from the rest of the station, giving the semblance of privacy where there is usually none. Graham, however, installed blinds shortly after his appointment many years ago, and pulls them when he convenes a department meeting, as they are now.

  
Since his brother’s appointment to deputy, Killian’s skillfully infiltrated Storybrooke’s sheriff department, befriending Graham over a pint and Ruby with a drunk karaoke night or four. He’s walked in on many a department meeting and sat in the back, offering witticisms and snarky remarks when called for. Or even when they’re not.

  
(Leroy, as loud as he is, has still managed to vex him. The man is always grumpy.)

  
So he knocks on the glass door of the small room, giving them warning of his entrance, and waltzes in.

  
“Good morning, esteemed law enforcement of Storybrooke.” His greeting is too loud in the room, a boom of thunder during an otherwise silent night. Observing his surroundings, Killian becomes confused. Liam’s not standing beside the door. Leroy’s not sitting in the trouble seat with Ruby perched on the arm, checking out her nails. And, the most surprising thing he notices, is that Graham isn’t standing behind his desk, hands resting on the top of the wood and shoulders hunched over the week’s docket.

  
Instead, all four of them are sitting in front of the desk, chairs dragged in from other places in the building. The looks on their faces express concern and something like guilt, though Killian can’t explain why.

 

And then he looks to where Graham should be standing to discover his place is taken by a blonde woman, with leather-clad arms crossed over her chest.

 

She’s a marvel: that’s the first real thought that crosses his mind about her. Her stance radiates power, demands respect, and serves as one of the most powerful turn-ons Killian’s ever had the pleasure of being exposed to.

  
“Can I help you?” she asks, her voice gruff and unimpressed.

 

At the sound, his eyes shoot up, catching a flick of green as her eyes roll back in her head. Thrown for a moment, Killian shakes his head.

 

He soon recovers and turns on his swaggery pirate persona, “Well, that depends,” he replies. He gestures to Graham, and then back to her. “How come you’re in Graham’s place?”

 

There’s a moan from beside him, one Killian recognises as his brother’s. He turns briefly to catch Liam rest his forehead on his hand in disgrace. Killian shrugs. “What? I believe it to be a fair question.”

 

The blonde shakes her head. “This is a private meeting of sheriff department personnel,” she says. The satisfying clunk of her boots are slow and measured as she comes around the desk, stopping right in front of him. “If you’d please wait outside, someone will be out to help you in a moment.”

 

She grimaces at him, her poor attempt at a polite smile, then she takes the door frame from his lacking hold. “Thank you.”

  
Dumbstruck by the turn of events, Killian has no choice but to glance at his brother as he slowly backs out into the bullpen. Liam raises an eyebrow, nonverbally asking him to follow orders, just this once, and they’ll discuss the rest of the matters later.

 

Conceding defeated, Killian nods his head. "My mistake," he says, much more humbled.

 

"I apologize for interrupting."

 

The woman nods as if to say, "Yeah, sure, fine" before shutting the door behind him. Still a little gobsmacked by the unusual turn of events, Killian makes his way back to Liam's desk and takes a seat. He stares aimlessly at the framed photograph on his brother's desk, an identical match to the one that sits on his own desk down in the harbor. It's from when they were younger, one of the first weekends after Liam officially became his guardian. For some reason, he had saved up a ton of money - picking up extra shifts when he could, sleeping minimally for days at a time, and living off of Ramen and boxed macaroni - all so they could go out on a cheap little rented sailboat on a nice Saturday.

 

The man who owed the boat offered to take a picture of the two of them once they returned from the water. Sunburnt, a bit dehydrated, and smiling wider than either of them could contemplate possible, that was one of the happiest days of Killian's life. Everything finally seemed to be turning up in their favor.

 

While life or fate had sent he and his brother through the wringer, this turn of events was certainly not one he had seen coming. A new sheriff? It's not as though Graham has done poorly in his position, nor had he suddenly fallen in the line of duty.

 

But this new arrival is certainly an interesting development.

 

Staff meetings, or at least the ones he used to be privy to, lasted anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes. A brief greeting, perhaps a jab at Grumpy's expense, then a run down of the assignments for the day, followed by questions, comments, concerns. In and out before your coffee got cold. And while Killian figured, with the change in command and explanation of local quirks, it would go half an hour, maximum. This sheriff seemed to get straight to business, as if she was more excited about filing paperwork than about tackling the town's problems. Killian could sit and play around for a half an hour, no problem. Maybe he'd even take a nap.

 

But when a half hour passed, and then an hour, and then an hour and a half, Killian finally had enough. There were only so many times he could Facebook stalk his brother's account, or send himself emails from Liam's work account. Only so many Vine compilations and cat videos to be watched. His stomach growling was the last straw. He stood up, completely intending to march right back into Graham's office and call this meeting cruel and unusual punishment when the door he'd been coerced from earlier opened up.

 

Grumpy appears first, his facial expression much more sour than usual, followed by Graham, who looks like he needed a nap himself. Ruby comes after, her fingers already quickly flickering across her phone in response to texts or tweets or whatever the meeting had caused her to miss. Liam brings up the rear, slogging out with an apologetic look behind him. He’s barely out of the doorway before the glass door slams shut behind him and the shade shimmies down over the window.

 

"What's got her so uptight?" Killian asks, spinning around in his brother's chair and watching Liam settle in to work.

 

Liam merely shakes his head. "Get up," he grumbles, "I've got to get to work."

 

"I thought today was your day to patrol," Killian counters, rising anyways. "I was going to hop in the back and ask for a ride down to my office because I am not walking through that weather again today. Once was more than enough."

 

Sighing, Liam takes his seat and scoots in, simultaneously logging out of his Facebook and opening up a case file. "I'm not," he replies curtly.

 

Leaning in, Killian asks, "It's because of her, isn't it?"

 

"Sheriff Swan's in charge now, so I'm just following her orders."

 

"So that's the she-devil's name?" Killian ponders aloud, looking at the closed door behind which he knows she's probably so diligently working. Probably cackling over the change in order, cackling over huge piles of paperwork she either can’t wait to do or assign to one of the others. "Swan." To his knowledge, she fits the name: beautiful, mysterious, more than willing to bite at you should you get too close. He sits back against the edge of Liam's desk. "Huh."

 

"Don't be rude, little brother," Liam chastises. "She's new to town and the only thing she really knows is what she's meant to do as an occupation." He halts his typing long enough to glare at Killian and say, "Exhibit good form, brother. Don't be an arse."

 

"Don't be an arse," Killian parrots back with a scoff. "Did you tell her that? She scared the shit out of all of you. I've never seen Ruby turn her phone on vibrate and she did for this woman."

 

"Killian." He turns around to see Ruby, phone in hand, staring at him. "Liam's right. She's just trying to get a feel for what we're all like. You remember how it was when you guys first moved here."

 

Conceding to that matter, Killian nods slowly. "But neither of us were that rude, were we now, love?"

 

Ruby sighs. "No," she admits, and in the same breath goes to defend the woman. "But consider it from her shoes: she's replacing the male sheriff in a town in the middle of nowhere. She needs to exert her authority much more than if it were Graham's first day."

 

"That doesn't give her the right to..." Killian trails off. She is the sheriff, so technically, it does give her the right to kick him out of what should have always been private, sheriff department only conversations. And yet, Killian's riled up now, and he isn't quite ready to admit to being wrong. "What if there was a real emergency?" he asks instead, changing tactics. "She should have at least asked why I was there."

 

Just as he finishes his question, the woman herself, Swan, pokes her head out from between the door and its jamb. "What’s with the yapping? Is there a problem out here?" she asks before her eyes catch on Killian's. She puts on the same painful fake polite smile on, for his sake he can only assume, and ventures out of her office toward him. "Ah, yes sir, sorry to keep you waiting. How can the sheriff's department help you today?"

 

“Well, love, I had the hopes of saying hello to my brother and friends here at the station, but I can see that that way of life is no longer approved.” He sticks his hand out for a shake. “Killian Jones, at your service.”

 

“Jones?”

 

“Yes ma’am.” He nods toward Liam’s desk. “Younger brother to Deputy Liam Jones and occasional department volunteer.”

 

“Ah,” she hums, and Killian has to hide the slight smile of satisfaction he gets from seeing her face fall. Carefully, she places her hand in his. “Well, I’m sorry for being curt.”

 

Hoping to rock her world even further, Killian pulls her hand to his lips and press them against her knuckles. He catches a hint of red on her cheeks and hears her small, sharp intake of breath.

 

Mission accomplished. Even if it earns him a groan from Graham, a cackle from Ruby, and a scolding from his brother.

 

Swan pulls her hand away from him, brushing it against her thigh. “Mr. Jones, as the sheriff here in Storybrooke now, I’ll have to insist you act professional when you visit the department,” she orders. “Now, I’ve got a lot to catch up on, as do the rest of my coworkers, so I’m asking you politely to leave before things get ugly.”

 

“That, love, sounds like a promise.” This time, everyone groans at his gall, including Leroy. Holding up his hands, Killian slowly backs away. “I know when I’ve been bested. I’ll see myself out.”

 

With a solemn nod, Swan heads back into her office. Killian salutes Liam, waves at Graham and Leroy, and winks at Ruby on his way. It’s still soaking with no signs of letting up. He sighs.

 

“I don’t like her attitude,” Killian mumbles before heading out into the rain. “I don’t like it one bit.”

 

It turns out to be an absolute lie.

 

Killian has already prided himself on finding the toughest woman in the bar or the pub, at the party or the event, and wooing her into his bed. Or hers, he really isn't picky. A challenge, he used to say to his friends in New York. He liked a woman who proved to be a challenge.

 

(It was a rare find. One look and listen to him and almost any woman who had a slight inclination toward him was putty in his hands.)

 

This time, however, the toughest woman has managed to find him.

 

Swan proves to be the most difficult nut to crack yet. And, somehow, they fall in to an unlikely friendship nearly immediately. There's something in her that Killian responds to on a subconscious level himself. She snaps at the slightest insult, almost as though she's been fighting for her own way in life as long as he has. The first occasion Granny sends lunch for the whole department via the K. Jones Express, he spots the wild look in her eyes as she nearly pounces on the brown bags. They're all labeled with names, made special for each member of the sheriff's office, but Emma quickly opens and searches each one with the ferocity of a hungry teenager.

 

When she finally finds hers, she grabs it and takes it back into her office, the door all but slamming shut behind her. Curious, Killian brushes off the thanks Ruby and Graham give him in order to follow Swan cautiously to her home turf.

 

Gently pushing the door open, Killian peeks in. Swan's sitting at her desk inhaling her food, barely taking enough of a break to swallow and sip at her drink.

 

"So," he casually says, stepping into the room. She looks like a deer in the headlights, sandwich half-eaten, her mouth stuck open for another bite. "What did our dear Granny send for you today?"

 

Slowly, Emma places her sandwich back on the foil it was wrapped in and brushes her hands of crumbs. "Grilled cheese and onion rings," she answers.

 

"What a peculiar combination," Killian muses. He takes a seat in the trouble seat, right across from her. He notices her eyes narrow fractionally as he settles comfortably into the chair.

 

"Onion rings are better than fries." She says it as though it's a fact.

 

Killian shrugs. "I wasn't saying anything otherwise, love," he says. "It's just not a combination one sees very often."

 

Picking up her sandwich and taking another healthy bite, Emma chews in order to stall their conversation. Killian just waits, stares at her. He's never been one to find himself uncomfortable with silence, but this is certainly one of the least uncomfortable situations he's found himself in in recent memory. As he sits there, he notices the way Swan's hair curls slightly and falls from behind her ear, or the freckles that sprinkle her nose and cheeks. They haven't known each other for too long, but Killian finds it a little bit funny that he just now notices them.

 

Swallowing, Swan sends him a grimace, one he takes willingly. It's not as pained as it was when they first made acquaintance and with each passing meeting, it seems to get a little more genuine. Or at least it's heading in that direction.

 

"Not that I have to explain anything to you," she says, an attempt at being menacing, "but it's my favorite. It's comforting."

 

Killian nods in understanding. He claps his hands together, making her jump and causing a small grin to cross his lips. "Well, I'm glad the cold, hard sheriff does have a warm spot in her heart," he teases.

 

Emma sneers at him and rolls her eyes. "Har har," she says. Shooing him away, she adds, "Get out. I have work to do."

 

"I'm sure you do. That must be the reason you are swallowing Granny's delicious food whole and not because you're used to fighting for food." Killian winks at her. "You're obviously very devoted to your position and want to get back to your responsibilities as swiftly as possible, aye?"

 

He watches as she gulps a little bit harder at his words, and he knows with satisfaction that he's hit the nail on the head. Her head slowly nods up and down. Killian sends her a wink.

 

"That's what I thought," he murmurs. With a tilt of his head, he bows out of the room.

 

"Until next time, dear Swan."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tries not to cry because this story is already a third of the way done and I feel like I haven't appreciated or interacted with you as readers or killiarious or wellhellotragic or captainswanbigbang more than enough. I will try my best during the week this week. I'M GONNA TRY. okay well, enjoy this chapter, I have to get cookies out of the oven because FALL.  
> ALSO HAPPY HALLOWEEN YOU HALLOWEENIES!!

As intrigued and frustrated as Killian is by Sheriff Swan, he can’t help but be a little offended when, about a month or so after her arrival, she stops all sort of communication with him. With just about everyone in town, it seems. It seems that, wherever she goes at night to rest her head, she stays there for a full week. He asks Liam, who responds that she’s fallen ill. Granny says she hasn’t seen the girl and Ruby, for once, fails at being the town know it all. Emma Swan has fallen off the face of the earth without so much as a trace.

 

Until Killian drives by the station early one morning on his way down to the harbor and sees her monstrosity of a car parked at the station. He does a dangerous double take, nearly running one of the two stop signs in town, just to make sure he’s not delirious. He almost turns around to investigate, but the whole reason he got up this early was to catch up on his work that fell behind while he transformed. He vows to check in on her later that day, when the pile has gone from completely unmanageable to slightly more manageable. Maybe he’ll suggest a walk to get her out of her office. If she has been ill, then the fresh air would be of good use. And if not, then it’s just another reason to speak and spend some time with her.

 

When he arrives at the station in the early afternoon, Killian’s pleasantly surprised to find everyone chatting around the conference table. Leroy’s glaring into his coffee mug, the corners of his lips suspiciously upturned. Ruby and Graham are laughing, bent over in a fit. Liam’s sitting at the head of the table, his hand covering his mouth as he tries to calm himself down. And in the middle of it all, Swan’s recounting some story, her eyes bright and wide as her smile. Killian’s never seen her this animated.

 

“So who’s going to let me in on the joke?” he asks, his own grin growing involuntarily.

 

Amongst huffs of breath, Emma waves him off. “You didn’t miss much, I promise,” she says. “I was just telling them something funny that happened at my old station.”

 

“And why wouldn’t I find it funny?” he asks.

 

She sobers up further, wiping beneath her eye. “Oh, I know you would,” she says, a suspicious smirk on her face, “which is why I’m not going to tell you. I know how much it’s going to bother you and that, Captain Jones, will be so much more fun for me.”

 

Her devious plan assures Killian that whatever illness or questionable activities kept her away for the last week is gone. And though it frustrates him - her story will bother him for at least another week - he’s glad to see her in much better spirits.

 

Somehow, almost by extension, her good mood spreads to him. He finds himself smiling a lot more that week, especially around Sheriff Swan. Something about her presence is infectious. He finds himself visiting Liam more and more often, though he seems to be spending less and less time actually visiting with his brother. Instead, he’s constantly knocking on the plexiglass of the sheriff’s office, poking his head in to say hello, and spending time sitting in the hot seat across from hers. He just watched her work, much to her chagrin. Every once in a while, She’ll reward him with a grin or a grimace, maybe even a snarky remark if he’s lucky.

 

And then she disappears.

 

Well, not disappears. She calls in sick again, for another week. Killian finds it a little odd, but illness does run rampant in small towns, and with the diet she keeps, he wouldn’t be surprised if she’s been struck by food poisoning. Besides, the full moon is here and there are other, more important things for him to worry about than the health and well being of the sheriff.

 

As much as he hates the situation that made him this way, Killian can’t help but love how Storybrooke has given itself to him and his predatory form. The woods are dark and deep, trees taller than some of the skyscrapers back in New York. There are open spaces for him to nap in sunspots of the rising morning sun. It’s a wonderfully wild place, one the wolf within is very much appeased by.

  
Human Killian is actually pleased by the set up as well. There are enough dead-end roads that lead into the forest where he can park for a night or two without anyone raising eyebrows or questions. He’s got enough of a nose around this time of the month where he can sniff his way back, no matter where or what form he was in at the given moment.

  
It’s one of those lazy mornings in the summer where the sun is already peeking up from over the horizon that Killian ambles back toward his truck. The transformation had struck him quickly this month, leaving him to pull over on the side of the road before he caused an accident or hurt himself.

  
When he gets back, the keys are still in the ignition, though he had had enough wits about him to turn the truck off. Groaning, Killian scrubs at his face. He’s tired, his run lasting all night, and he just wishes the ability to poof back to his bed had accompanied the whole “changing during the full moon” thing.

  
But an unusual image grabs his eye before he can take the driver’s seat, accompanied by the small crack of a twig. Across the road, hidden between the copse of trees, a bright blonde wolf appears. The hue is familiar, though Killian can’t place exactly where from.

He blinks and it disappears, only to reappear about 75 yards down the road, nose poking out of the shadows a little more than it did before. Trying to get a better glimpse before it runs away for good, Killian cranes his head back, but ends up leaning too far and falling on his ass.

  
He stands back up and the wolf is gone, leaving Killian on his own once more.

 

It plagues him, like the inability to come up with a word when you know the definition. Where he recognizes that color sits on the tip of his tongue, poking at the back of his brain, for days. It makes him irritable, something for which he will have to apologize to Liam about later, once he figures this damn riddle out. It’s keeping him awake for hours on end.

Due to a lack of sleep - or perhaps it’s better phrased as an abundance of consciousness - Killian’s incredibly on top of his work. The water calms him: the gentle whistle of the wind through masts, the constant thump of waves against the dock, the moon reflecting on the sea. If he’s going to be up at all hours, restless, he might as well be somewhere he wants to be. It’s a side of Storybrooke he hasn’t really seen as a human. This is the town he knows on four legs, where crickets are his noisy neighbors and he chases rabbits off his lawn. It’s a pleasant change to see it as a human, to experience the beauty of sunrise over the water without wondering if he’s going to have to walk out of the woods barefooted and part naked.

 

It’s on one of these increasingly more frequent mornings, as he watches the sun crest over the horizon, Killian's hair on the back of his neck stands to attention.

 

Someone’s coming. From the corner of his eye, he sees the shine of her blonde hair, catches her light scent on the breeze before fully comprehending who it is. Her presence - it tickles something in the back of his mind that doesn’t fully strike him until she’s standing next to him, her shoulder brushing up against his.

  
“It was you,” he mutters instead of greeting her, realization crashing over him. Thank god, everything makes sense now. Satisfaction and relief run through his veins, his shoulders relaxing. Finally, Killian looks over at her, watches the wind brush her bright hair from her shoulder. Emma squints at the sun before turning toward him, her smile a small, sly thing. “I’d recognize the color anywhere.”

  
Emma chuckles. “Not in the woods, apparently,” she quips, her smile turning into a full fledged smirk. There’s a sway to her body, as if his revelation released a flood of pent up emotions that she needs to subconsciously react to.

 

Leaning closer to her, her scent gets stronger - it’s springy, reminiscent of fresh flowers and sea breezes and something you’d find at a bake sale - and it nearly knocks Killian back. But he pushes forward, whispering in her ear, “Where’s your pack?”

  
He’s still a little new to the whole werewolf game, but in his research and what knowledge he has about dogs, it makes sense that, if there was a group in Storybrooke, they’d get together and do wolf things. Right? And in _The Hangover_ , they’re called the wolfpack. That’s an indication to back up this theory.

  
Shrugging, Emma turns back to the water, the sway of her body slowing down. She’s quiet for a moment, then two, as if he asked her the meaning of life itself instead of whether or not there are any other werewolves in town.

 

“Haven’t got one,” she finally says, still looking toward the horizon. She breathes deeply, then looks back at him, straight through his eyes and down to his core. “Never had one.”

  
With a lick of his lips, Killian lingers on her eyes - a shade of green he’s only seen when the sun reflects on tree leaves - before turning to the water himself. “Nor I,” he admits.

  
Emma hums, one that he returns in close to the same tone, but then silence takes over. It’s interesting, he thinks, that two of the same kind of creature would find each other in such a remote place. Storybrooke barely has enough reach for more than one cable station, but there isn’t a shortage of werewolves for some reason.

  
He wonders why she’s here, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Sheriff Swan?” he asks, smile blooming on his face. “I’ll never say no to a pretty face such as yours, but I have the feeling you don’t do much in life without a purpose.”

  
She shakes her head as if to clear the thoughts in her head. “Right, yes.” Putting some space between the two of them, Emma crosses her arms tightly over her chest. “Your brother said that you would have the documents I might need to get a warrant to search a boat.”

  
“He might be correct,” Killian drawls, his fingers looping in to the edge of his pants.

 

“Although I wouldn’t necessarily call it a boat right off the bat.” At the confused scrunch of her nose, he shrugs. “It might be a ship.”

  
“A ship,” she repeats. “What’s the difference? They both float.”

  
“Quite a few important matters, actually,” he says with a scoff. “Ships are usually larger and carry cargo and or passengers. Boats are just things that float in the water.”

  
“Like a square is a rectangle, but a rectangle isn’t a square?”

  
Killian can feel his muscles straighten and he smiles. “Exactly, Swan.” He chuckles and points a finger at her. “A brilliant mind to go along with those breathtaking looks.”

  
“Cool it, Jones,” warns Emma, rolling her eyes. She gestures between the two of them.

 

“Not happening. Never.”

  
“Never say never, love,” he chides, getting in her personal space. “We’re more alike than meets the eye, wouldn’t you say?” Licking the corner of his lips, Killian sends her  a wink, hoping to infuriate her further.

 

“Snarky to cover up the fact that we’ve been through more than enough in our lifetimes for a multitude of other lives.” Emma’s eyes narrow and her mouth opens as if to dispute the fact, but he shushes her, a finger falling to her lips.

 

“You’re somewhat of an open book, love. I can see through you.” Flirtatiously, he taps at her temple. “I’m in your head.”

  
She should really patent her eye roll, if for no other reason than to do it before someone else does. “In your dreams, captain,” she says. Her words hold less heat each time she says something akin to it.

“More than you know, love,” he saucily says. With a tilt of his head, Killian also mentions, “The whole wolf thing might also stand as a commonality.”

 

Holding up an open palm, Swan scoffs. “Stop.” She shakes her head and takes a step away from him. “If you’re not going to help me with the documents, then I’ll have to find another way with a lot more paperwork.”

 

“Perish the thought.” He acts insulted, but offers her his hand. “Never let it be said that I’m not a gentleman.” Hesitantly, Emma accepts it, her fingers wrapping lightly around his. With a grand gesture, Killian ushers her, “Right this way.”

 

She’s looking for the address of someone with an expired boating license, something he should’ve caught in the first place and yet didn’t.

 

“The guy apparently has a bunch of other outstanding expirations,” she explains,  arms crossed as she waits for him to find her perpetrator's file, “so I thought it might be nice to scare the shit out of him. Maybe then he’d get his act together.”

 

Killian makes a noise of discovery when he finds the man’s file. With a raised brow, he hands her the folder. “I don’t mean to sound rude, Sheriff Swan, but that sounds an awful lot like intimidation.”

 

Emma shrugs and takes the file. “Not if you word it the right way.”

 

There have been few times in his life where Killian has been rendered speechless. Swan’s instance of witticism nestles itself quite nicely in those top times.

 

He watches her search the file briefly, then clips it shut. “Thank you, Jones. You’ve been quite the help to the sheriff’s department.”

 

Nodding, Killian replies: “Just doing what is best for the community.”

 

As Emma thanks him, an idea strikes him. She’s halfway out the door when he catches up to her, grabbing her by the elbow. She turns around, eyes wide in confusion. “Maybe, if you don’t find me completely obtuse, we could meet up next month,” he suggests.

 

When Emma’s eyebrows furrow, he begins to backtrack. It’s merely a crazy idea, but one he needed to express. Taking his hand back, Killian scratches behind his ear. “Perhaps.”

 

Her tongue comes from between her lips. She nods. “I’ll consider it,” she says with a small smile. Holding up the folder, Emma says, “Thanks again,” and walks off to town.

 

He gets a text three days before the next full moon. It’s an unknown number, not even a local area code, but he knows exactly who it’s from the moment he opens it up.

 

“I’ll be in the woods by the wishing well,” it reads.

 

It’s not exactly an invitation, per se, but it’s an offering, if nothing else. They’ve both been alone during their transformations since the beginning. Even if they don’t run and hunt together, for him, at least, it’ll be nice to know that someone in his same situation runs through the woods at the same time.

 

When he drives his truck to the gravel side of the road a couple days later, the sun setting spectacularly behind him, Killian steps out of the cab and stretches. His muscles are raring to go, more than ready after a month of comparatively lame exercises. He takes a deep breath.

 

She’s there, or at least somewhere nearby. Her scent rides the wind from the direction of the old wishing well. He catches a hint of it on his tongue just as he transforms and he decides his first hunt this transformation will be her.

 

(Finding her. He’s going to find her and then they’ll hunt together.)

 

Killian follows her scent to the opening in the forest. Sunset streams through the roofs of the trees and Emma’s tail peeks out just on the other side of the wishing well. He thinks he’s managed to catch her unaware, slowly circling before pouncing on her.

 

She falls, naturally, and yelps as Killian’s own weight collapses on her. Her neck twists back to nip at her assailant until her instincts take a step back and Emma realizes who’s attacked her. And then she bites at him on purpose, as if to say, “You scared me, dipshit.”

 

For his part, Killian at least acts a little sheepish. He bows his head and finds his way off of her, nudging at her side to help her up. Emma shoves him away with a paw to the shoulder. Once she’s up, she shakes, her light fur rustling and dirt falling back to the ground. She takes a hesitant step forward, jerking herself head toward the greater woods.

 

He nods in understanding: she’s recovered from his attack and ready to hunt for real. At a trot, Killian starts off into the corpse of trees, listening for Emma’s foot falls behind him. They’re lighter, treading on the leaves and avoiding the snaps of twigs as he was.

The crickets begin their symphony around them and the critters of the evening peek out from their hiding spots. With Emma at his side now, Killian takes a breath of night air.

So far, this might be the best transformation he’s experienced. Hunting by himself is necessary. Hunting with a...Emma is a game. Who can reach the rabbit first, who gets the better hunt, who can sneak up on the other without them noticing. It reminds him of the few times in his childhood where he and Liam got to play tag or build a blanket fort: free.

 

(It’s something he’s always cherished since becoming a werewolf, but it’s something he finds new joy in with Emma.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t love @killiarious or @wellhellotragic or @captainswanbigbang more for all of the work they’ve done for me and for everyone. okay, enough of that, let’s get to the good stuff.

Something changes after that transformation between the two of them. They’d always been friends, but Killian’s curiosity is through the roof.

 

In the quiet and privacy of her office, Killian begins his subtle interrogation of the sheriff. She shuts down almost immediately, not answering any of his rather personal questions but more than happy to share her gripes of the transformation.

 

She seems to have settled comfortably into her office: a pair of what looks to be department sweats in the corner, a handful of food wrappers in the trash bin, two picture frames with something important enough to remember in them. Her feet rest atop her desk, stacks of paperwork pushed aside as she munches on her sandwich.

 

Killian’s position mirrors hers, save for the takeaway cup of tea in his hand. They’ve grown comfortable with each other. Or rather, comfortable enough. Their conversations consist mostly of small talk, but not nearly at the percentage that it once was.

 

“What does Liam know?” she asks.

 

“In general? Not much, I’m afraid.” Emma rolls her eyes, the hints of a smile hidden behind her sandwich wrapper. He chuckles to himself. “I suppose you mean about our affliction. Or possibly our clandestine relationship?”

 

“You know I mean the whole wolf thing,” she says. “Don’t be a smartass about it.”

 

Shrugging, Killian lets his gaze go out of focus. “He knows enough,” he settles. “He saw me the first time I transformed, but he doesn’t know much else than it happens to me.”

 

The more he thinks about it, the more he knows that’s not necessarily true. He’s lived with his brother for a majority of his life, including the entirety of his time as a wolf. So he correct himself.

 

“Well, you know how men can tell their ladies are approaching their time of the month?” Killian glances up to see Emma nod. “Liam says I’ve got similar tells.”

 

That makes her scoff, which turns into laughter. “What, do you get bloated as well?” she asks in jest.

 

Now he rolls his eyes. “I only mean that I, for example, have a penchant for getting migraines. Things like that,” he explains.

 

“Ah,” Emma hums in understanding. “Well, at least you didn’t hit the jackpot.”

 

“What exactly does that mean?”

 

She smirks. “My period always seems to come just after the full moon, so I transform, change back, and immediately begin bleeding out of my vagina.” The manner in which she states is so matter of fact that it catches Killian off guard. He chokes on the drink of tea he’s just taken and nearly spits it out across the desk. Emma giggles around her sandwich. “Sorry, that’s a little too much information, isn't it?”

 

“No, no, not at all,” Killian says, trying to keep his lungs from revolting against him further. He takes a few deep breaths through his mouth. “It’s good information to have in the future.”

 

“And what exactly does _that_ mean?” she asks.

 

Rolling his eyes again, Killian sighs. “I’m being practical, darling. We occasionally work together, we like to hang out in the woods together.” He gestures toward himself. “These are just the sort of things a man ought to know in lieu of an explanation every time.”

 

Emma moans and buries her face in her hands. Reaching across the desk to squeeze her arm, Killian offers, “I’m truly sorry you’ve gotten the short end of the stick.”

 

“Yeah, you and me both.” Peeking out from between her fingers, Emma opens her hands wide enough for her words to come out intelligible. “It’s really bad when all I want is chocolate, but it’s the full moon, so if I eat it, I’ll probably have an allergic reaction to it.”

 

“Really?”

 

She shrugs. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?” she inquires. “Dogs can’t have chocolate because it’ll kill them. Wolves are just big dogs.” She groans, her head sinking into her palms once more. “I hate it so much.”

 

Standing up, Killian walks around her desk. He squats next to her seat and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “That’s something that no one should ever have to suffer through,” he commiserates.

 

“Well, too late,” Emma grumbles. “I do. On a monthly basis, no less.”

 

He’s not quite sure how to respond to that without being rude or without getting his head cut off. So he sits there next to her, rubbing her shoulder in his best attempt at comfort.

 

“Are you going to tell Liam?” She asks quietly, her eyes briefly peeking out from the cup of her palms. “About me?”

 

He pauses for a minute. Very few times in his life thus far has Killian actively kept a secret from his brother. News like this - that the new sheriff is a werewolf - asked to be shared. “Do you want me to tell him?” He asks back. It’s her life and her secret: she’s the only one who could really make that decision.

 

She shakes her head. “You can tell him later, but I just got here. Let me settle in.”

 

Killian can’t help the chuckle that escapes his mouth. “Swan, you’ve been here for a couple months now,” he reminds her. “At least two transformations, from what I can tell.”

 

“So?” She asks defensively. “It takes some people longer to acclimate to new situations.”

 

“And I’m not denying that,” he assures. “I’m just curious as to when you’ll consider yourself settled in.”

 

Groaning, Emma rolls her eyes. She pushes him off her, and he falls to the short distance to the ground gracelessly. “When I’m settled, you'll be the first to know,” she grumbles.

 

“Now leave. I’ve got to settle into more paperwork.”

 

“Aww, I’m honored.”

 

“Fine, fine, go be honored somewhere else.”

 

He follows her wishes, but not before loitering in the doorway. “What would make you feel better at that time of month that isn’t chocolate?” he asks.

 

Emma shrugs. “Hot tea, I suppose, with some cinnamon.”

 

Gesturing toward his head, Killian winks at her. “I’ll be sure to remember that next month.” Then he nods his farewell, her exasperated chuckle and poorly hidden smile a precious parting gift.

0000

“Liam, honey, have you gotten any calls about suspicious cars recently?” Elsa asks one evening as she helps put the dishes away. Confused, Killian catches his brother’s eye from across the room. He shrugs when Liam sends him an equally confounded look.

 

“No,” he answers slowly. “Why do you ask?”

 

“I’ve noticed this…” Being as quiet and unintrusive as she is, Elsa is the one person Killian knows who notices everything. “Unique car around town that I haven’t noticed before.”

 

Liam and Killian share a look. “Unique how?” Killian asks.

 

“Well, it’s an old VW Bug. Bright and tired yellow.”

 

There’s only one person in town who would have that car. He should know with the amount of times he’s seen it in front of the sheriff's station. “Oh that’s-”

 

“Isn’t that Swan’s car?” Liam finishes the thought for him. How his brother has gotten this far in life as unobservant as he is, Killian can’t even contemplate.

 

“Sheriff Swan?” Elsa asks in clarification. Both nod their heads. Elsa hums and goes back to her tasks. She washes another plate nad picks a cup from the suds in the sink before saying, “She’s been here in Storybrooke a couple months now, hasn’t she?”

 

“Yes, love,” Liam answers, taking the clean cup and drying it. “Why would you say it’s a suspicious vehicle, love?”

 

She shrugs. “It seems like there’s a lot of stuff in the windows,” she says. “I don’t know how she can reverse. There are things that look like they might pop the windows out of place.”

 

“That doesn’t seem safe,” Liam comments.

 

“Especially not for the sheriff.” Killian frowns. He feels like he should’ve been paying more attention. Swan shouldn’t be sleeping in her car. She could at least have asked Granny for a room at her inn. He shakes his head and looks at his brother's back, hoping his gaze burns enough of a hole to get his attention. “Liam.”

 

“No.”

 

Killian groans, hitting his head on the plate he’s putting away. “You haven’t a clue what I’m going to say,” he reasons.

 

“It has something to do with the sheriff, also known as my employer, and knowing you, it’s either you want to have a roll in the sheets with her or you want to marry her.” Liam stops drying the dishes long enough to stare at him. “Either way, I am not supporting it.”

 

Elsa places a hand on his arm. “Liam, babe, hear him out.”

 

Sending her a grateful glance, Killian takes Elsa’s advice. “It was neither of those things, brother.” He points upstairs with a glass. “We have a spare room.”

 

“You mean the gym?”

 

“You mean the room with a spare TV and some random weights thrown about?” Killian sassily retorts. And deciding that that’s not the proper way to deal with this matter, he changes tactics. “I understand your concerns, Liam, but she’s a woman in need.”

 

Liam sighs. Turning to Elsa, he asks, “What if she stays with you, honey?”

 

Elsa shakes her head. “Anna’s moving in at the end of the month, so I’ve got no room.” A grin grows on her face, showing that despite her conciliatory words, she’s not sorry at all with how this situation is turning out.

 

Liam groans. Killian pulls out his puppy dog eyes, knowing since childhood that most anyone is useless against them. “It’s good form,” he chides.

 

“Ugh.” Rubbing at his forehead, Liam shakes his head. “Not for the first time, I’m regretting raising you by that code,” he mumbles. After a moment, he grunts. “You may offer her the gym room. But she pays rent.”

 

Killian claps and takes a step back, his hands up in surrender. “Perfectly fair.” Liam grumbles under his breath, nothing coherent, but it makes Killian chuckle. “You’re doing the right thing, brother. She’s a lady in need.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

Elsa giggles, placing the last of the silverware in their proper compartment. She steps up on her tiptoes and whispers something that makes Liam blush and smile himself.

 

“Whatever you said to him, can you say it on a more regular basis?” Killian asks.

 

“Especially when I want something and he’s being the logical bloke.”

 

For what it’s worth, Liam does manage to smack him quite forcefully on his way out of the kitchen, his arm wrapped around Elsa’s shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

0000

At first, Killian tries to ask Swan to move in over dinner one night. He makes the food, she cleans the dishes, then they’ll sit and watch a movie, perhaps. In theory, it’s simple and straightforward. nothing really to get nervous about, he assures himself. He’s being a gentleman, offering a pretty good solution to a woman in a sticky situation. Emma would put up a fight, insist that she was fine as she was, sleeping cramped in that death Bug of hers, but he would make her see reason. She wouldn’t be half asleep on the job, therefore making her less susceptible to injuries or mistakes of the law. Really, he’d argue, it’s the best situation for all of Storybrooke.

 

And she would concede, because, in the end, she was logical. And her back was probably aching from weeks cooped up and uncomfortable in the Bug.

 

But none of that happened.

 

Instead, another interesting development occurs.

 

They eat dinner, the two of them, on a rare night where Liam is on the evening duty and she’s not hovering over him or finishing up the never ending pile of paperwork that rests on her desk. Since she brought pizza, Killian’s relegated to dish duty, leaving Emma to collect her thoughts and relax.

 

"Why's he always got to be so chivalrous? It makes him so much more difficult to be around."

 

"What was that now?" Killian asks, rubbing at his nose to try and hide his chuckle. When Emma doesn't respond, he turns around to see her looking at him. He'll admit, he was a little distracted trying to clean the dishes, but that doesn't mean that he wasn't paying attention. The expression on her face, however, says otherwise. Her brows are furrowed in confusion.

 

"I didn't say anything," Emma says, leaning against the counter, the mugs in her hands set down on the granite with a clink. "You're beginning to hear things, old man."

 

Killian scoffs. "Darling, I'm only your elder by three years. If you're really looking for someone to chastise over age, Liam should be home soon enough."

 

Turning back to finish drying the plates in the sink, Killian merely shakes his head.

 

_What an ass. But, I mean, what an ass. Bounce a penny off that thing._

 

"Now, don't tell me you didn't say anything now," he chides her, the smirk in full force now. "I heard what you said of my arse, and there's nothing to be ashamed off. You're surely not the first person to have the thought cross your mind."

 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Killian raises a brow in flirtatious question in her direction. Her cheeks are bright red, nearly the color of the tomatoes in the salad they just ate.

 

He nods toward her. "Come on, now, Swan. No need to be embarrassed."

 

"How did you know that?" she asks quietly, curiously taking a step away from him.

 

"Do what, dear?" Killian inquires back. "You said it clear as day. 'Bounce a penny off my ass,' I believe was the turn of phrase."

 

"I didn't say that," Emma insists, her eyes wide. "I didn't say that out loud, at least."

 

"But you thought it?"

 

She nods her head slowly. "Yeah. I mean," she inhales deeply through her nose, "like you said, I can't be the only one who ever thought about it. You do have a great-" Cutting herself off, Emma closes her eyes and holds up an open palm. "Whatever. I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything crude. And I certainly didn't mean to say it out loud."

 

"No harm done, Swan."

 

"And, to be fair," Emma continues, "I think it's pretty tame compared to some of the things I've heard you say about me."

 

"Pardon?"

 

Scoffing, she finally takes a step in his direction. "Sure, go ahead and play stupid."

Emma points an accusing finger at him, unsure smile growing on her face. "Don't pretend that you didn't say anything about..." A blush stains her cheeks again, this one deeper and more intense by the looks of it. "You know what, it's not appropriate to be said in the world again, but they were definitely interesting images."

 

"What is it that you're under the impression of me saying?" Killian asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

 

Emma chuckles. In a poor copy of his voice - badly accented and exaggeratingly low - she mimics him: "Under the impression of me saying." She laughs more heartily this time, approaching him. "Well, to start with the tame, there was the time you reveled in my scent. Springy, I think, was a word used."

 

He doesn't particularly remember saying that bit aloud, but Killian's thought it enough times that he can see himself being distracted by something else - Liam's imminent arrival, or a customer on the docks interrupting their conversation, perhaps - for it to have slipped from his lips.

 

Taking another step to him, Emma tilts her head, letting her hair fall in front of her shoulder, framing her smile perfectly. "Then there was the time that you said something about splaying me back on a bed," she says.

 

"Hold on now," Killian interrupts her, his own finger coming up to point at her. Stepping forward and coming toe to toe with Emma, he defends himself. "I know for a fact that I have never, nor would I ever, say such a thing about a woman such as yourself."

 

"Well, you certainly have."

 

Killian's scoff turns into a laugh. "Have not," he retorts. "I'm a gentleman, Swan. You of all people should be well aware of that matter."

 

Shaking her head emphatically, Emma counters, "No, I'm not saying you aren't a gentleman. I'm saying that all men have thoughts like that." She jabs him in the chest. "It was last month, before we transformed. You had brought the office lunch and you said something about the sunlight on my hair and how it would look even better on a Sunday morning, your bed covers beneath it."

 

Surprisingly, he knows precisely what she speaks of. He remembers the day quite well: it was rainy, effectively shutting down the harbor for a couple hours. Liam had complained the night before that the weather wasn't keeping the number of car accidents from occurring locally, so Killian thought he'd be a nice younger brother and friend and buy the sheriff's office something warm from Granny's. Emma had greeted him with a brilliant smile, one that grew wider once she learned he'd ordered her favorite onion rings. And, yes, the thought of sun, sex, and weekend breakfast had crossed quite close to the forefront of his mind.

 

"I never said that out loud."

 

"Yes, you did. I heard it."

 

Killian shakes his head. "No, I didn't say it out loud." His tongue runs from the corner of his lips to his front teeth. "But I did think it."

 

"Really?" she asks. "You actually thought that out before it came out of that mouth of yours and then decided it was a good idea anyway?"

 

"Swan, love, think about it," he reasons. "Do you really believe I would say something like that in a public place with a stash of firearms, my brother as a witness?"

 

That stops her train of thought. "Well," she hesitates, "I suppose you aren't that big of an idiot." She shakes her head, biting at her bottom lip. "But I heard you say it," she says, her voice strong and unwavering. "I remember hearing the way you said it. It was an unbelievably poetic way to say you've had sex dreams about me."

 

Glancing over the mention that, yes, Emma now has a better idea of how much of his brain space she takes, Killian wracks his mind for any sort of believable explanation.

 

"Maybe..." he says, the filler word doing its job. Killian searches the floor, as if it would give him the answer to this incredibly confounding problem. So he grasps at the closest straw, the one he uses to blame any sort of misfortune, not matter how small it might seem. "Maybe it has something to do with the werewolf thing."

 

Tilting her head the other way, Emma narrows her eyes at him. "What do you mean?"

 

"Maybe..." In his mind's eye, Killian reaches out a little further, the straw just out of reach. "It has something to do with how much we sort of..."

 

"Depend on each other?" Emma finishes the thought for him hesitantly. "Especially during that time of the month?"

 

They stare at each other for long moments, quiet, each processing the idea in their own way. The more he thinks on it, the more Killian believes it to be true. He's researched the topic of lycanthropy extensively. He recalls reading stories of packs having a sort of telepathy, of being able to speak without words while in wolf form.

 

It seems Emma comes to the same conclusion, for she breaks their silence with, "Does this mean we're a pack?"

 

Killian shrugs. "Can't say I'm one hundred percent sure." He takes her hand in his, squeezing it comfortingly. "Is it considered a pack if there's only the pair of us?"

 

Emma shrugs back in response. "You've got the accent. I just assumed you'd know the definition to all the words I've never really questioned."

 

Chuckling at her slight jab, he shakes his head. A pack. The thought isn't unwelcome to him, but for someone who's been on her own for - well, her life, he wonders if the idea is as good for Emma as it might be for him. "If we were to call ourselves a pack," Killian wonders aloud, his voice slow and gentle so as not to frighten her, "would you be okay with that?"

 

Biting her lip again, Emma nods her head. "I think so," she finally answers, gripping his hand back. "I mean, it might take some time to get used to, but..." She trails off, her eyes going starry and out of focus. She's probably living a memory, Killian thinks, one not nearly as positive as this one could be, should she allow it. But soon enough, Emma shakes her head and comes back to him. "It'll be nice to annoy you without doing it to Liam as well."

 

Barking out a laugh, Killian pulls Emma into his chest, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and resting his cheek against her hair. He senses her muscles seize up and stiffen for a moment before she ultimately gives in, weakly returning the embrace.

 

He decides not to ask her tonight. She’s already raw as it is. Given this recent discovery, Killian thinks there’s been enough emotion and revelation today. As closed as she is on a normal day, this just might push her over the edge and completely turn her off from the idea of moving in with them at all. It might even force her over the town line all together, even if it seems she’s just come.

 

But now he knows that there is a connection between the two of them. Now, he doesn’t have to worry as much as he has been, because there is a previous sense of familiarity and comfort and _pack_. He’s more confident in his decision to ask her to move in with them, regardless of what Liam might say or believe.

 

Instead, Killian starts slowly introducing the idea. And she might not accept any of his invitations to their house, but her excuses become less and less outlandish. It gets to the point where he’ll ask her with a smirk and she’ll just roll her eyes, not even deigning him a verbal answer.

 

And then she accepts. On false pretenses, but she accepts it nonetheless.

 

He knows Emma is on patrol, because Liam’s spending the whole day catching up on his laundry and household chores like fixing all the doors that squeak, much to both of their annoyances. So maybe he abuses that knowledge and texts her to report a suspicious figure hanging around their house.

 

So maybe he made it up. She’ll forgive him for wasting her time.

 

(He doesn’t believe it to be a waste of time. The chances that Emma would actually run into serious criminal activity while on patrol in a sleepy, bucolic town like Storybrooke are slim to none. Mostly none.)

 

Killian’s putting the finishing touches on making his bed when a knock sounds on the door. He figures Liam’s gotten himself locked out - again - and the fool can make his way around back to the open door. He’s not saving his brother from his own stupidity for the fourth time today. Eventually he’ll learn to unlock the front door or prop it open.

 

Walking down the stairs to check on the laundry, Killian hears footfalls head toward the front door. Then he realizes that Liam is not locked out and also has no warning for the visitor Killian had invited.

 

"Oh," Liam starts, startled by the appearance of his boss at his front door. "Hello there, sheriff."

 

"Hi Deputy Jones," Killian hears from the hallway.

 

"Is there some sort of emergency you'd like my assistance with?"

 

"No, not today," Emma replies. "You can still enjoy your day off."

 

"Well then, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Liam asks.

 

"Well..."

 

"She's here to see me, brother," Killian interrupts her, grin wide across his face. Emma's still standing in the doorway, wringing her hands at stomach level. The look on Liam's face when he turns to Killian is priceless - his jaw hangs and his eyes are blown wide. "Well? Aren't you going to invite the lady in, Liam? Weren't you the one who taught me about good form?"

 

Shaking his head, Liam seems to come back to his body. He mumbles, "right, right," under his breath and steps aside. Swan carefully takes a single step forward. When she finds herself still in one piece, she continues toward Killian.

 

"Come in, Swan." He guides her into the living room, asks for her jacket and if she would like something to drink as she takes a seat on the couch. "Liam makes a fine batch of lemonade," he says, trying to entice her.

 

With a light chuckle, Emma nods. "Sure, lemonade sounds great."

 

Stepping to the kitchen, Liam grabs on to Killian's forearm.

 

"What is she doing here?" his brother hisses. "I can't be hanging around the house with naught but my boxers on drinking beer instead of eating with my superior around."

 

"I mean," Killian hesitates, opening the fridge and removing the pitcher of lemonade, "you could. I just believe it would be smart if you didn't want to be chastised come Monday morning."

 

Liam pulls a face of disgust and frustration before slamming the refrigerator shut. "What is she doing here, Killian?"

 

“I’m offering her our spare room.” It’s not a complete lie: he does plan on bringing that plan up, but Liam can see straight through hise ruse. A frustrated sigh escapes Killian’s lips. "I fear I can't tell you, brother," he says. "It's not my secret to tell."

 

Narrowing his eyes, Liam watches as he pours Emma a cup of lemonade and put the pitcher back. And then he groans. "Killian, tell me you didn't have sex with her."

 

Somehow, Killian manages to choke on his own saliva. "Pardon me?" he asks, whirling around to defend himself and Swan's honor.

 

"Come on, little brother," Liam scolds him. "Don't lie. You can't say that you're not interested in her in the slightest."

 

"I wouldn't dare." Weighing his options, Killian takes a note from Swan's book and rolls his eyes with a moan. "She's like me," he finally says.

 

"She likes to sleep around?"

 

"Liam!"

 

"He means I'm a wolf. Or whatever we are." Both men turn quickly to find Emma standing on the threshold, her cheeks red and her teeth cutting into her bottom lip. She gestures gently behind her. "Your voices really carry in this place."

 

"You should hear him when Elsa’s over." Killian slaps his hand over his mouth as Liam glares at him. Slowly, his hand drags down to reveal the apologetic smile. "Sorry, brother, but it's true."

 

All but growling, Liam points an angry finger at him. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that again, Killian,” he threatens.

 

Knowing he’s made a mistake, Killian holds up both his hands in supplication. “I promise,” he swears. “And, for what it’s worth, I do apologize. It really did just slip out.”

 

Liam grumbles to himself as he exits the kitchen. Killian glances over at Emma, who just shrugs. Upstairs, a door shuts forcefully, followed by the stomping of Liam back down the stairs.

 

“Now that I know what you truly think, I’m going to go visit Elsa and leave you two to do,” Killian can imagine his brother wrinkling his nose and tutting, “whatever.”

 

Killian yells, “Send Elsa my love.” He gets no response, save for the slam of the front door, causing him to chuckle.

 

“He’s got a good point.” Her voice breaks him from his reverie. Turning around, he finds Emma with her arms crossed over her chest, a hip jutting up against the counter. “What am I doing here, Jones?” she asks.

 

After a brief search of the room, Killian licks his bottom lip and says, “Thought you might want to hang out with someone who isn’t on your payroll.”

 

Squinting her eyes in consternation, Emma gives him a dry, “Ha.” At his smug grin, she adds, “Am I that sad looking?”

 

“Not really,” he assures her. He sidles up to her though, mirroring her position with a hip of his own against the counter. Crossing his own arms, Killian hazards to say, “A little bird did tell me that you seem to be living in your death trap of a vehicle, though.”

 

Swan tilts her head. “Did they?”

 

Nodding his head, Killian replies, “Indeed.” With a shrug and his eyes on the floor, he casually offers, “And I thought, being the gentleman that I am, that maybe you’d want to move your belongings into something a little more stable.” He looks up, meeting her green green eyes. “Like our spare room, perhaps?”

 

He spots a flicker in her gaze. “Are you asking me to move in with you two?” she clarifies, her voice wavered and uncertain.

 

Sighing, Killian grabs her forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Swan, you’re a public figure of authority in this town. You can’t be living out of your Bug,” he reasons.

 

“I have been so far.” She’s looking anywhere that isn’t him, and he can’t say that he blames her. From what he’s deduced, Emma Swan is a very strong, very independent person. To his knowledge, she’s never asked anyone for help, whether it’s directions to Granny’s or helping lift an entire couch from her office. She’ll figure out how to do it on her own, because that’s who she is. The only person who saves her is herself.

 

But sooner or later, she’ll have to let someone help her. So why not him?

 

“But how has transformation been?” he asks. Continuing to look at the floor, Killian she’s her nose scrunch in disgust, the corners of her mouth turn downward, and he makes a satisfied noise. “That’s what I thought.” When Emma still doesn’t look up, he sighs and lets go of her. “Look, Liam and I discussed this. You’d have to pay rent, but you’d have a roof over your head, a kitchen, a bathroom.” Her eyes move fractionally, catching his own in their peripherals. “Think on it, love.”

 

On a sigh, Emma lets her arms fall to her sides. “Killian, it’s a wonderful offer-”

 

He holds a finger up to her lips, effectively quieting her. “Don’t answer now,” he murmurs. “I’m serious. Think on it for a while.” She nods her assent, and Killian brings his hand down. “But while you’re here, we can spend the day together.”

 

Her brow arches in a move he’s positive she picked up from him. “I thought that was just a ploy to get me over here,” she says, following him cautiously as he makes his way back to the living room.

 

Shrugging, Killian flops on the couch, remote in hand. “Doesn’t mean we can’t act on it.” He pulls up Netflix, and pats the cushion next to him at her dubious look. “Have any suggestions?”

 

She glares at him only for a moment before returning to the kitchen. Confused, Killian stares after her, craning his next on the couch back. She reappears a few moments later, two glasses of lemonade in her hold. Her smile is small, cautious, as she sets the glasses on the coffee table and takes a seat right next to him.

 

(He’ll take whatever victory he can get.)

 

They spend the afternoon bingeing Stranger Things, a show they’ve both heard a lot about, but neither have seen in entirety. A couple episodes in, Liam comes back from Elsa’s with the lady herself.

 

“And you must be Sheriff Swan,” Elsa says with a smile, taking the open seat next to Emma as Liam heads up to his room to change. “I’m Elsa.”

 

“Emma’s just fine.” The women shake hands and before Killian quite knows what’s happening, Stranger Things has been changed to Great British Bake Off and he’s been all but banished to the kitchen to help with dinner. They talk quietly to each other, eyes focused on the screen as the final minutes of a showstopper challenge dwindle.

 

“Not how you expected the evening to turn out, aye?” Liam asks, catching Killian watching the ladies from the kitchen.

 

“To be honest, I’m not sure what I was expecting this evening,” Killian admits.

 

The feeling, it seems, is mutual. When the hour is late, Elsa and Liam bid Emma goodnight and retire to his bedroom. As Killian ushers Emma to the door, well fed and tired, Emma turns to him. Her mouth opens and closes as though she’s at a loss for words.

 

(Yet another victory in his mind.)

 

When she finally settles on something to say, Emma asks, “Do you think we could do a little bit of a trial run?”

 

“What, as lovers?” Killian jokes. At her unimpressed expression, he shakes his head. “A trial run of what, love?”

 

“Living together?” It comes out as a question, as though she’s not sure she likes what she’s asking for. With a click of her tongue, Emma continues, “Today was great, but I’m…” she hesitates, but Killian knows what she’s going for.

 

“You’re afraid that something will go wrong and you don’t want to be cornered.” Weighing his options, he decides to reveal a little bit about his past. Hopefully, she’ll see it for what it is: a peace offering. “Aye, I’m familiar with the feeling. Like with foster parents that seemed to good to be true.” Her eyes widen and he winks at her, a special understanding shared between them. “We can do that. Whatever makes you comfortable, Swan. I just don’t want a lady such as yourself to be in such dire straits.”

 

With a lick of her lips, Emma smirks. “Careful, Jones,” her voice deep with flirtatious warning, “It’s almost like you worry about me.”

 

“Always, love.” He opens the front door for her, seeing her out to the front deck with a hand to her back. “So you’ll stay with us?” he asks, double checking that it’s what she wants.

 

She nods, then chuckles to herself. “I love my Bug, but my body can’t take sleeping in a car anymore,” Emma admits.

 

Killian laughs. “You’re not as flexible as you look?” he asks in jest. Shaking his head, he tsks. “What a shame, Swan. There go a slew of my fantasies.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Emma grumbles, “You’ll get over it.” She turns to head back to her car, but pauses on the first step. Facing away from him still, she says, “Um, and thanks” so quietly, Killian’s afraid he’s misheard her.

 

“For what?”

 

Spinning around, Emma shyly replies, “Today.” Her hands fidget at her waist. “It really was a nice day. Just hanging out with you and your brother and meeting Elsa.” Killian figured as much, given the numerous smiles and precious giggles he’d been privy to over the last couple of hours. “I’ve been here for a little while, but I haven’t really been able to just...”

 

“Be?” he offers softly.

 

Her cheeks redden and her shoulders deflate, and Killian recognizes it as a piece of her walls falling to the ground. It’s not outright, but it’s the closest she’s gotten to asking someone else for help in a very long time, he believes. “Yeah,” Swan mumbles, swaying from side to side. “So thank you.”

 

Killian inclines his head slightly. “As always, it is my pleasure, Swan.” She nods, her smile growing wider. “Call on me when you need some help moving your things. I’ll be there.” And then, deciding to indulge his more dramatic side because he can, Killian adds, “Until then, there’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you.”

 

His top victory of the evening, hell, perhaps even the whole week, is when she smiles back at him and says, “Good,” before descending the stairs and disappearing off into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mm, wolf stuff


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends. here we are again. i wish i could tell you what i promise in this chapter. just kidding, i can, it's captain swan. and i particularly like this chapter for shenanigans. :)  
> as always, thank you thank you thank you to killiarious for beta-ing this mess, wellhellotragic for the ever beautiful art, and captainswanbigbang for putting this whole thing together. and the-corsair-and-her-quill because she's always tagging me and i feel like its only fair.

Swan moves in the following weekend, all her belongings brought from car to house in a matter of two trips. She’ll need a mattress, a dresser, and other sorts of furniture, but for the time being, she’s staying in Killian’s bed, though not without putting up a fight.

 

“Guys, I can sleep on the couch,” she says, hanging out in the doorway of Killian’s room as he and Liam remake the bed. “I’m the one who hasn’t found a mattress yet, you guys don’t have to suffer.”

 

“Nonsense, Emma,” Liam replies. “Us Jones men abide by good form.”

 

“And good form wouldn’t have a lady such as yourself sleeping on the couch when we can share a bed,” Killian adds. He glances over to see her rolling her eyes and huffing. “Swan, take the offer. You may be stubborn, but you’ll quickly learn that we can be just as obstinate.”

 

She grumbles under her breath, nothing that either of them can truly understand, but Liam winks at him as they pull the sheets tight. They’ve won for tonight.

 

As Emma settles in and their days without problems increase in number, the transition from coworkers and competitors goes...well, it’s a transition to be sure. Killian’s pleasantly surprised how often his brother and Swan don’t get into fights. Having your superior as a roommate, in his mind, is a recipe for disaster. But they must get along swimmingly at work or save all their disputes for the station.

 

The last time Killian had a roommate that wasn’t his brother was at 15. He and two other boys shared a room in a foster home on the occasions Killian didn’t run away. For some reason, he had expected Swan moving in to be quite similar to that - fighting for the bathroom, cold showers, a constantly empty fridge.

 

It’s quite the opposite: Swan is nothing if not the ideal roommate. She takes quick showers, cleans up her messes, and occasionally bakes a superb dessert. Plus, he doesn’t have to share a room with her like he did with the other boys. They all have their own personal spaces.

 

(Though bed...well, he wouldn’t mind sharing his personal space for that. But that’s not a thought that he should, nor would, share with anyone, least of all Swan herself.)

 

And as the days go on, he has the privilege of watching her relax. She’s doesn’t look skittish, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’s cracking jokes, joining them at the dinner table, suggesting a rousing game of poker where she sweeps them without so much as blinking.

 

Emma Swan at home is quickly becoming Killian’s favorite version of Emma Swan.

 

As such an integral part of both Jones men’s lives, it’s not unusual for Elsa to stop by for some reason or another. It happens one night shortly after Emma moves in: Elsa comes over for dinner and, at the end of dinner, Elsa asks Emma if she’s like to attend their next girls’ night. Emma excuses herself to go upstairs to her room, a slight blush in her cheeks grabbing his attention before she goes.

 

(Wonder what that’s about, he thinks idly.)

 

“You like her.”

 

Those words out of Elsa’s mouth don’t really make sense. Individually, they all make sense, but Killian cannot figure what his brother’s girlfriend means.

 

“Excuse me?” he clarifies, but she only smiles before walking into the kitchen and leaving him to flounder.

 

He, naturally, follows her. “Hold on, you can’t say something like that and then leave the room,” he complains.

 

She remains silent as she joins Liam at the sink. Bumping her hip against his gets his attention: Liam startles, glances at her, and grins softly. Feeling like he’s interrupting a moment when he desperately needs an response from Elsa, Killian clears his throat.

 

“Brother, I can take your shift of dishes tonight,” Liam says.

 

“No, not yet,” Killian shushes him. Elsa’s still smiling, and continues to do so as he points a finger at her. “What do you mean?”

 

Shrugging, Elsa dunks a dirty plate into the soapy water. Liam looks at her. “What is he on about?”

 

“I told him he likes her,” she replies.

 

“Her who?”

 

“Emma,” Elsa tsks, the plate coming down in the water with a splash. “Don’t you see it?”

 

“Emma Swan?” Liam asks. “The sheriff of Storybrooke? Our new roommate, Emma?”

 

Elsa pouts, crossing her arms. “How many Emmas do you know?”

 

Liam turns on Killian. There’s fire in his eyes and Killian isn’t quite sure why. His brother stares at him, hard and judgmental, while Elsa hums behind him nonchalantly. When his gaze eases up, a small grin grows on Liam’s lips.

 

And goes back to doing the dishes,

 

“What was that?” Killian asks incredulously. “What the bloody fuck was that, Liam?”

 

His brother shrugs, and bumps Elsa’s hip back.

 

(It must be some secret signal. It has to be.)

 

“Nothing important, little brother,” he responds. “Just judging the credibility of Elsa’s accusations.”

 

“And?” Killian’s never liked it when Liam eggs him on like this.It’s goading and rude, in his opinion, the exact opposite of good form.

 

But two can play at that game. “Has she finally lied to you to protect your ego?”

 

Liam glares at him, and Killian knows the scores have evened out. “She never would,” he says with conviction and another stupid smile. “and she hasn’t.” Placing the dish he’s currently cleaning in the sink, Liam takes the time to turn and face Killian. “Don’t do anything stupid, Killian. Remember, she’s paying rent.”

 

Killian shakes his head in denial. It’s his mind they’re trying to analyze: he should know best what goes on inside it. “It’s not true.”

 

“What’s not true?” Emma asks, bounding back into the kitchen. Her blush has calmed down, but there’s still an air of happiness and amazement around her. “What’d I miss?”

 

Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Killian begins to gently guide her away from his troublesome brother and his girlfriend. “Don’t worry about it, Swan,” he says. “Can I interest you in some strip poker instead?”

 

“Only if the stripping is me taking all of your money.”

 

From the kitchen, Killian can hear Elsa and Liam laugh, but they let him be.

 

And maybe, just maybe, Liam and Elsa might be a little right in their assessment of affection.

 

So he decides to test their deductions and see how he feels about it. He’ll ask her out, on a date-esque outing. They’ve spent a lot of time together at home, at her place of work, and out of the woods as wolves. None of those situations are especially conducive to romance. Or potential romance.

 

(The more he thinks on it, the more he hates how right his brother and his girlfriend are.)

 

(He dares someone, anyone in the world, to tell him they find Emma Swan anything less than beguiling.)

 

“Would you like to do something this weekend?” he asks casually while cleaning the dishes one evening. “I can ask one of the lads down at the docks if I can borrow their vessel and we can sail out.”

 

Emma hesitates, her circles on the plate she’s drying slowing. “That sounds great, Killian, but...”

 

In his mind, her voice goes wobbly as he zones out. He’s reeling, because there are only a few things she could be doing. She’s only been living with them for about a month, but every weekend, she’s either stayed to herself or tagged along with whatever they were doing. Sometimes it was running errands, other times doing sorely needed housework, but Emma’s yet to really venture outside of her comfort zone.

 

Killian rules out working, because he knows Leroy’s been grumping about it the whole week. The unwelcome thought of her going out with someone else is...well, she’s living her own life and Killian just has to live with whatever happens. Even if he doesn’t like the idea of Swan schmoozing and hanging out with another man.

 

“Elsa.”

 

Shaking his head, Killian realizes she’s expecting a response to a comment only heard the last word of. “Pardon?”

 

Rolling her eyes, Emma puts the dried plate back in the cupboard and repeats herself. “I’d love to, but I’m actually going to have a girls’ day with Elsa and some of her friends.”

 

“Really?” he asks with a raise of his brow.

 

She squints at him, reaching for another drying dish. “Why do you sound surprised?”

 

“Not surprised, per se.” The last time he’d seen his brother’s girlfriend, she hadn’t mentioned a budding friendship with Swan. “Impressed,” he clarifies. “You’re off making your own friends.”

 

“Well, I have an actual house with an actual bed and Elsa made a very compelling offer,” she says. Tsking, she continues, “Besides, I can’t hang out with you two for the rest of my life.”

 

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug, looking down into the sudsy water. “I’ve been in that head of yours and I think Liam and I can satisfy all of your needs.” His tongue comes out from the corner of his mouth as he looks over to see her less-than-impressed expression. “Socially, of course.”

 

“Right,” She drawls. “I’m still going to Elsa’s. For some girl time.”

 

“All right.”

 

“But can we go sailing next weekend? Or Sunday?” Emma asks, turning pleading eyes on him and catching him completely off guard.

 

(In the little time they’ve been a pack and the even shorter time they’ve been living together, Killian has learned he cannot, under any circumstances, say no to Swan.)

 

“Of course, Swan,” he murmurs, still a bit disappointed at his lack of plans. “So kind of you to fit me into your busy schedule.”

 

She hums, a satisfied little grin crossing her lips. “I think jealousy suits you well.”

Killian’s jaw nearly drops into the dirty sink water. He whirls to her, flabbergasted. “I am not jealous,” he protests.

 

“I think you are,” Emma says, her voice melodic and smug. “With that pout of yours and grumpy set of your brow.” She sets down the towel in her hand and leans into him. In his ear, she whispers, “Just remember, you’re the one I always come home to.” Then she presses her lips to his cheek and exits the kitchen, leaving Killian to finish the rest of the dishes by his stunned self.

 

0000

 

Swan’s girls’ day Saturday ends up being a washout, making Killian feel a little better. He wouldn’t have gone out in this weather regardless, and with Liam on duty this weekend, it’s nice that one of the three of them is having a nice weekend.

 

With the house to himself, Killian is taking full advantage. No shirt, boxers, a cold beer in hand, and mindless television on the screen in front of him. It’s relaxing, a sort of peace he doesn’t often have a chance to experience. And in the nick of time, too: lately, his head’s been hurting him. Migraines and weird allergic-type itching have plagued him for the better part of the week. Usually, he’d attribute it to something about the transformation, but they couldn’t be any further away from the full moon if they tried. Emma’s even on one of her two weeks of freedom, something she’s relishing in.

 

Scratching behind his ear as it pains him again, Killian shuts his eyes at a commercial, hoping darkness could calm his senses down.

 

Instead, it strengthens a particular sensation: his communications with Emma. It starts off as a humming in the back of his brain. He attributes it to the TV at first, but then he hears her familiar voice, which he knows wouldn’t be on the television. Opening his eyes slightly, he checks over his shoulders just to make sure he’s not missing something, but it keeps going with no one behind him.

 

He knows that Emma isn’t in the house. He watched her walk out the front door an hour, hour and a half ago, smile wide beneath the hood of her jacket as she headed to Ruby’s. The rational part of his brain tells him she’s off with Ruby, Elsa, and a few of their friends. But that doesn’t explain why he can hear Ruby say, “So tell us about you and Killian” clear as day.

 

Emma scoffs, choking on whatever beverage she’s chosen today. “Excuse me?” she asks, a shot of panic dosing their bond.

 

There are giggles and another woman’s voice, one he isn’t too familiar with, says, “You can tell us. We won’t judge you or anything.”

 

“Speak for yourself.” That’s Ruby, he would know that instigator’s voice in his sleep.

Killian can feel Emma take a huge swig of her drink, making him swallow himself.

 

“Nope,” she says, taking a deep breath. “No, you’re either going to have to waterboard me or pump me full of the good stuff.”

 

There’s some sort of scuffle that interrupts Killian’s little broadcast, but he can hear Ruby agree in typical salacious Ruby fashion: “That can be arranged.”

 

Killian opens his eyes, knowing that the conversation can only get more private and intrusive from here. Swan left for her girl time, to be away from him and his brother because she’s right, she needs more than the two of them as her friends. He shouldn’t be listening in on this. He knows that.

 

His brain, however, seems to think otherwise. His migraine, though not completely gone, has waned, and though it’s not the worst he’s ever experienced, Killian would really like to not have a migraine right now.

 

It’s very weird, because he’s seeing a commercial for Hot Pockets, can hear the light strains of the music and lines associated with it, but he overwhelmingly hears Emma, almost like she’s talking directly to him at a loud and crowded party or something. Except it’s a party where their emotions and thoughts are already a connected, even if neither of them were invited, but they still showed up anyways.

 

(He was never very good at metaphors.)

 

The apprehension that Emma feels, though, he’s good at identifying that, at knowing that there isn’t really anything to spill about other than they’re roommates.

 

Not that he wants that to be the case.

 

He understands her mush of feelings quite well because he’s feeling the same way, regardless of her emotions influencing him at the moment.

 

“Come on,” Ruby scoffs. “He hangs on your every word.”

 

“He does not,” Emma insists, pushing everything deeper into a corner of her mind.

 

“How do you say no to those puppy dog eyes of his?” the other woman asks. Emma’s laughter reverberates through their bond and manifests physical in him, chuckling away at a soap opera at how accurate the choice of words is. It warms him up in a pleasant manner for such a dreary day.

 

Before Emma can respond, Killian barely hears Elsa say, “It’s difficult.” They must share a look, a sense of intrigue bubbling up. Killian can imagine Elsa ever so casually shrugging. “What, Liam’s got them too. You figure Killian had to learn it from somewhere.”

 

“Yeah, let’s talk about that more,” Emma says, swallowing a healthy gulp of whatever her drink may be. There’s the clink of glass, something like setting a glass on the table, that makes Killian think it’s probably of the _vino_ variety. The conversation around her - _them_ \- fades out of focus, relief flooding the bond as Swan relaxes physically. She sighs at the distraction, no matter how weak it might be. “Elsa and Liam. Yeah, focus on them.”

 

Chuckling to himself, Killian has to admit Emma’s got denial down to a tee. Getting her to admit that she’s wrong in _any_ argument is a huge victory. Whether it’s who left the dishes in the sink overnight to what the correct ending line of _Clueless_ is, Emma Swan has to be the winner. Or she has to believe she is.

 

Emma starts at Ruby’s voice, loud even to Killian. He assumes she must be closer now, perhaps talking straight into Swan’s ear so as not to be pushed away like last time. She wants an answer, and if she needs to invade Emma’s thoughts - and thus, unknowingly, Killian’s - then she will.

 

“Just tell me one thing and I’ll leave you alone,” Ruby says, though there’s something in her voice that makes Killian think her words are for Emma alone. “I’ll pretend that your distraction was sufficient enough for me and you can continue swimming the length of De-Nile.”

 

“Ha,” Swan grants her drolly. “It fooled them.”

 

“I know deflection when I see it,” Ruby scoffs. “The younger Jones puts out a lot of sexual swagger. I want to makes sure he lives up to the image.”

 

Emma doesn’t say anything for a minute, confusing Killian even further. He knows that he oftens puts on that pirate swagger act, but the more he thinks about it, the tougher he finds it to remember the last time he consciously did it, or even wanted to do it. Ever since Swan moved in, he hasn’t really gone out to the bars or even out of his way to woo a woman in that manner.

 

Huh.

 

“What?” Emma finally asks.

 

Ruby laughs. “Are you kidding? Broody, works basically alone at the harbor, eyebrows with a mind of their own, a body built for sin?” She clicks her tongue. “I haven’t seen much of that Killian, and I can only assume it’s because of you. I want to make sure he’s putting it to good use.”

 

Embarrassment bleeds through their bond now, leading Killian to imagine that blush Emma’s got to color her cheeks. She’s got to be shaking her head, just like the character on the television is doing right now in front of his eyes, as if movement will remove the conversation from her brain. “No,” she says. “Nuh uh, nope, we’re not having this conversation.” There’s a pause where Ruby cackles before he feels the need to escape and hears Emma do so by asking, “Where’s the bottle? I need more.”

 

The surrounding noise and voices disappear in time, leaving Emma alone with her feelings and thoughts.

 

And him.

 

He can hear the thunk and thump of cabinet doors opening and the telltale stick of the refrigerator opening. When he hears the whump of it closing, Killian deduces that his Swan’s run away to the kitchen, on the prowl for more alcohol to wash away Ruby’s invasive question. There’s a discomfort, an agitation, that consumes her thoughts. Something about high school or her youth, the awkwardness associated with it and how it hardened her into the woman she is today.

 

“What’s this now, Swan? Are you embarrassed by how easily you fall for my charms?” he says aloud.

 

It must echo, though, into her mind, because Killian hears her spit out her drink, the liquid pinging off the sink, followed by a “Jesus, fuck.” Her sense of humiliation skyrockets, so forceful that his own cheeks start to redden with warmth. “Dear God, if you’re there, please tell me he didn’t hear any of that,” she prays.

 

“I don’t know about any almighty being that might have listened in on such a raunchy conversation, but I was certainly privy to it.” Emma groans. Killian tsks. “Don’t be ashamed. You’re hardly the first one to succumb to my better nature.”

 

Emma growls, “Stop talking or else your better nature isn’t getting any better any time soon.”

 

Staring at the TV, Killian tilts his head. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand that retort, love.”

 

“Shut up.” She sighs, then taking another drink of her wine. “It’s not the full moon, why are you in my head?”

 

“Haven’t the foggiest,” he replies. Killian reaches up to scratch at the spot behind his ear. “There wasn’t much on the television and I had a bit of a headache, so I closed my eyes and then I heard you.” He shrugs to himself. “I guess I tuned in to you.”

 

When Emma awws, it confounds Killian. Something along the lines of curiosity must come through on her end of the bond, because she answers his unasked question. “You were thinking of me because you miss me even if I’m a five minute drive away.”

 

“I’m always missing you,” he responds with a chuckle, hoping she doesn’t perceive the strength in which he means it.

 

“How’s the headache now?” she asks.

 

“Gone.” He smiles. “You’re the only medicine I’ll ever need.”

 

She scoffs, “Gross.” A faint voice comes from her side of the bond, getting minutely louder. Urgency accompanies it. “Okay, you’ve got to tune out now. For the rest of the time I’m here,” Emma says.

 

“Wait: who’s there with you?” he asks quickly.

 

“Ruby, Elsa, and Ruby’s friend Mary Margaret.”

 

Killian breathes deeply in understanding. Now that he’s been told, he can totally recognize one of the local school teacher as the mystery voice. “Thank you, love. That would have bothered me all night.”

 

“Right, you’ve got to go away now.”

 

“Spoilsport.”

 

Moaning in frustration, Emma says, “Look, I don’t want to talk about the size of your brother’s dick as much as you don’t want to hear about it, but it’s going to happen whether we like it or not and I’d really like to keep one of us innocent.”

 

“My savior.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

The voices of her friends getting louder, Killian knows his time is short, if not already used up. Swiftly, he relaxes his body, hoping that it will calm her down. “Be safe, Swan. I’ll be here if you need me,” he says. All the talk of his missing swagger makes him add,  “And be sure to hint at how gifted I am proportionately in comparison to Liam.”

 

“And now I can only think about that and I’m going to make sure it’s the only thing you can think about all night for being…” He can pick out each of the women’s individual voices now, meaning they must have found Swan’s hiding place. The end of her sentence gets drowned out and Killian’s left with the overdramatic tones of a soap opera once more.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to say that I'm completely happy with how this chapter ended up in its entirety, but there are parts in here that I really like and am really proud of. :)  
> As always, thank you to killarious, wellhellotragic, and captainswanbigbang for all the work they did to get this project off the floor and into the interwebs.

Honestly, Liam has been a saint through this whole experience. Living with him was one thing, but with the addition of Swan into their household - his superior, no less - Killian thought that the transition would’ve gone a lot worse. He knows his brother, knows that Liam likes to run a tight and clean ship and as someone who was raised in such a manner, Killian never really had any trouble with that.

 

But Emma was the wildcard. And though she’s managed to fit herself seamlessly into their lives, the whole pack mentality thing really does make it easier for him and much more trouble for Liam.

 

His brother is learning to live with the two of them always off on their own wolf adventure. Killian’s half sure he thinks of them as advanced guard dogs, always asking them to go out and check noises when he was the one to do so before. It’s humorous to say the least, if not a little annoying.

 

Killian and Emma get him back easily and often, saying they smell something burning when they know it’s not or pretending not to hear something that’s so loud, the neighbors can hear it. And it’s all fun and games, a way to lightening up tense atmospheres or stay away from heavier topics all meant in good humor

 

But Liam _really_ hates the whole telepathy bond thing.

 

“So what you’re telling me,” he parses out, his mind barely keeping up with the words coming out of his mouth, “is that, not only do you run around the woods together and can speak, but you can do it like this too?”

 

“Yep,” Emma says, goofy smile across her face. She knows how much it annoys him, can tell by the furrow in his brows and the hint of graying hair at his temple. Killian doesn’t think it was there when this whole wolf ordeal started, or even before Emma moved in. It’s aged them all, but none worse than Liam.

 

Glancing over at her, Killian sees her wink at him. He shakes his head incredulously, chuckling and looking away.

 

“You guys are talking about me in the other’s head, aren’t you?” Liam asks.

 

“Don’t worry, brother,” Killian reassures him, his arm sneaking around the back of Emma’s chair. “We’re just communicating nonverbally. We’re not in each other’s heads right now.”

 

Emma agrees. “Yeah, I can just read what Killian thinks of your stupidity in his eyes alone.” She breaks into raucous laughter as Liam stands up so forcefully that his chair falls back and Killian rests his head on the edge of the table.

 

“No, Liam, I’m joking!” she shouts, trying to catch him as he storms off into the kitchen with his dishes. “It’s only really around just before and just after the transformation. The rest of the time, we can only communicate verbally and through looks just like everyone else.”

 

Slowly, Liam reappears in the kitchen entryway. “Well, ain't that a fucking relief.”

 

Killian thinks it’s fair that his brother detest his and Swan’s new way of communication, but he sees it as pay back. In the time before Swan, when Elsa joined them more often than not, they had a similar nonverbal type of talking and making comments about, well, usually him. He’d never really understood it. Now, though, it makes sense.

 

There's a timid knock on his bedroom door a couple nights later, almost too quiet for him to hear in the first place.

 

"Come in," he bids just as softly, marking his page and setting his book down next to him on the bed. A moment passes where the door doesn't open, and Killian thinks that perhaps he misheard. It wasn't a knock on the door, but the floor groaning as either of his housemates visited the restroom.

 

But then the door creaks open, slowly revealing Emma. Her hair falls in front of her face, forcing her to brush it back as she sneaks between the door and the jamb before shutting it once more.

 

"Swan," he sits up in bed, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

 

She shrugs, coming up to the other side of his bed and taking a seat. She looks a lot more innocent, more at risk for being hurt in her pajamas. They're mismatched: her top is more suited for winter, very similar to some of the flannel shirts in his own closet, but her shorts have little balloons on them and show off an illegal amount of leg in his opinion.

 

"I couldn't sleep," she grumbles, pulling her legs up until she can rest her chin on her knees. She likes to curl up, he's noticed. Not just when she's in wolf form, but as a human as well. It's almost like she's trying to hide herself in plain sight, makes herself as small as possible to avoid whatever life might throw at her.

 

There’s a sense of need in their bond. It’s weak, hidden behind fatigued and confusion and concern, but it comes off to Killian as a desire for warmth, familiarity, comfort.

 

He’s at her beck and call, unable to let Swan think a single negative thought or emotion.

 

He’s very good at sticking his foot in his mouth.

 

"Would you like me to tell you a story?" He asks in jest, but then she begins to nod and he can't leave her hanging like that. With a sigh, Killian moves his book to the bedside table. "What would you like to hear about?"

 

"I don't know." After fluffing the pillow, Emma lays down and curls up facing him. "You could read that book aloud," she suggests.

 

His brows furrow for a moment before one arches. "Were you listening to me from your room?" he inquires. She nods. "For how long?"

 

She shrugs noncommittally. "I like listening to you before I go to bed sometimes," she admits.

 

"Sometimes?"

 

A blush rushes to her cheeks as she moans and hides her face in the pillow. "Most nights, don't be an ass about it," she says, or something close to that. Her exact words are muffled by the fabric. "It's calming."

 

"What's calming, love?"

 

"Your voice." Peeking from her pillow hideout, Emma groans again at his smug expression.

 

“You could hear me through the walls?”

 

Shaking her head, Emma hides her face once more. “No,” comes the mumble between the fluff, “through the bond.” He’s confused, to say the least, but his face must express some unknown emotion because Emma stands up in a huff. "Look, I came here because I thought we were friends, that we were past this level and I just wanted to see what it was like in real life."

 

"Don't leave." He really loves having her around, loves having her near him regardless of his form because, just as his voice appears to calm her, her presence makes him feel whole. She's halfway between the bed and the door when she glances over her shoulder. Killian beckons her back with a wiggle of his fingers and a crick of his neck. “I was just confused because it’s not the full moon.”

 

“I thought the same thing.”

 

“But you came all this way,” he says. “It would be ungentlemanly of me to deny such a kind request.”

 

Emma scoffs, but slowly makes comes back to the open side of the bed. “All this way?” she asks, getting under the blankets. “You mean down the hall?”

 

He shrugs. Raising his arm, Killian invites her to scoot closer. She does with little hesitation, pillowing her head on his shoulder. “I know you, Swan,” he tells her in hushed tones. “You aren’t one to openly ask for help-“

 

“I’m not asking you for help,” she protests, jabbing him in the chest.

 

With an oof, Killian chuckles. he wraps his hand around her finger pulls it to his lips. “You didn’t let me finish.” He watches a hint of blush spread across the one cheek he can see as he sets her hand down. “I believe myself to be one of the only people who can read you like an open book. You’re a bit closed off sometimes. And that’s is fine,” he quickly adds, feeling her chest inflate. Brushing her shoulder in an action meant to comfort, Killian presses his nose to her hair. “It’s who you are. But you don’t have to be so stoic around people who care about you.”

 

“Like?” Her voice is soft and confused, but he can feel the nerves in her end of the bond fall away.

 

“Ruby and Elsa, your other friends. Liam,” he easily lists off. Then he nudges her. “Me. Especially me.”

 

She giggles into this chest. “That’s only cause you know what I’m thinking.”

 

“And feeling,” he reminds her. “Don’t lie, I felt the need for comfort when you came in here. You were timid to ask.” His hand finds the tip of her chin and gently pushes it up. Emma looks up at him, her green eyes hazy but aware. “Don’t be.”

 

She shrugs, looking away. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

 

“Agreed. But that doesn’t mean we can try harder to kill them.”

 

Sitting up, Emma looks at him, letting a breeze enter through the new opening in the blanket. “What are you talking about?” she asks.

 

“A bit of an experiment,” he suggests, sitting up himself. “You’ve got to tell me what you’re thinking.”

 

“But you know what I’m thinking, and feeling,” she reminds him, poking him on the forehead. “Remember what you just said?”

 

“Mhm.” He rests his thumb in the cleft of her chin and softly adds, “But I want you to tell me. Open up a little bit.”

 

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

 

“You’ve just got to…” He licks his lips, chuckling at the idea of him without words. Killian shrugs and shakes his head. “Open up.”

 

Laughing outright, Emma nods her head. “Yeah, that’s very straightforward,” she scoffs.

 

“Okay, what do you like about me reading?” It’s a different tactic then what he originally was going to go with, but since this maddening woman has somehow managed to render him speechless, Killian rolls with the punches.

 

“What?”

 

Now he scoffs. “Emma, I know you’ve got better than average hearing,” he reasons with her before asking again. “What do you like about me reading?”

 

“I told you, it’s calming.”

 

“What about it calms you?”

 

“I don’t know,” she says. The tone of her voice is growing clipped, and he knows she’s got very little patient left to entertain him. “There’s something in your voice.”

 

“Yeah?” he goads her.

 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she snaps, whipping the blanket up her body. “Something about it makes me feel…” Slowly, the covers fall with her hands until the lay peacefully in her lap. Her shoulders untense, her face falls the tiniest bit, and Emma sighs. “Safe.”

 

A flash of memory overwhelms him for a moment. Of when he was sick as a lad and his mother, bless her heart, making him feel safe as she read to soothe him. It makes his heart warm and he smiles softly.

 

“Good. You’re doing wonderfully, Swan,” he encourages her, gently guiding her down to lie on her side facing him. “What else makes you feel safe?”

 

“Hunting with you during the full moon,” she continues. “I know you’ve got my back, so I can basically run wild.”

 

That makes him chuckle, his hand brushing against her arm. “I’m sure you’d run wild even if I wasn’t there.”

 

“Yeah, but,” she can’t look at him. She licks her bottom lip and bites it. Then her green green eyes shoot up to his. “Killian.”

 

“Yes, love?”

 

There’s a moment, between his answer and her action, that Killian understands much of what he never understood before. There’s something in her eyes that makes complete sense. He understands why men would go to war for a woman, and why they’d give their lives just to see her. For some reason, it makes sense.

 

And then Sheriff Emma Swan is kissing him. In his bed, her hand on his cheek warm save for her freezing fingertips.

 

He’s gobsmacked, to say the least, but gives as good as he can take. And when she pulls away, he keeps his eyes shut for a moment, because he must be dreaming.

 

Except he’s not. When he opens his eyes, Killian finds Emma’s hand over her mouth and her cheeks red as cherries.

 

“Not that I’m arguing it, but what was that for?” he asks quietly. HIs hand finds her wrist, finds the slightly raised skin of a tattoo he’s never seen.

 

She shrugs, looking anywhere that isn’t him. “You wanted me to open up,” she explains. Emma’s eyes match his swiftly before glancing away again. “I couldn’t think of a way of saying that that wasn’t corny.”

 

“And what exactly is it that you were trying to say?” he asks. He hopes his touch comforts her and not drive her away.

 

Reluctantly, Emma issues a chuckle from her lips. She leans forward, her forehead pressing against his and the tips of their noses touching. “You’re a safe place. My safe place.” Her hand comes to rest on his cheek, scratching at the skin by his ear, and then she kisses him again. “I wasn’t going to keep up this game. I don’t have the patience for it.”

 

Killian laughs. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me in the least.” He kisses her this time, pushing her backwards until she’s flat on her back. “You feel a little better?” he asks, hovering over her.

 

“Yeah,” she sighs. Then she jerks her head toward the bedside table. “Do you wanna read?”

 

He falls back on to one elbow. “Is that you telling me you’d like me to read to you?” he clarifies, raising his eyebrow. She nods and settles back on to his chest until he chuckles. “Swan, I can’t read anything if I don’t have the book to read.”

 

Groaning, Emma rolls back for a moment just to let him reach for his book and settle back into the mattress.

0000

The next morning, he wake to a weight on his chest. It’s Emma, he realizes, his book haphazardly shoved down to their knees, the pages folded over.

 

(That’s gonna bother him later, but right now, the little puffs of Emma’s breath is worth the discomfort.)

 

He closes his eyes, intending to only wake up further, but falls back asleep. When he wakes again, Emma’s staring at him. She looks away when their eyes connect, her cheeks reddening. She grumbles out a sorry and starts sliding out of the mess of sheets.

 

Killian reaches out and grabs her hand. “Where are you going?” he asks.

 

“Back to my room.” She pulls away from him and lifting the sheets away from her body. “I’m sorry I stayed here the whole night,” she apologizes.

 

“Don’t apologize,” he requests, “come back here.” With a moan and a roll of her eyes, Emma crawls back on to the bed. She flops gracelessly at his side, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. “I’m glad you stayed,” he tells her.

 

Her gaze shoots up to his. “Yeah?” she asks, her voice higher and self conscious.

 

“Aye,” he says. “May I kiss you?”

 

“You’re asking?” she says confusedly.

 

Killian shrugs. “Seemed appropriate.”

 

Shaking her head, Emma’s smile gives him his answer. He leans forward and presses his lips to hers and it’s just as sweet, if not sweeter, than those he got the night before.

 

“You don’t need to ask anymore,” Emma says against his lips. He chuckles and falls back on his pillow, Emma following and landing on his chest.

 

“You’re going to regret saying that,” he says.

 

“Ha!” Emma sits up and stares at him. “Fine. Let’s conduct another experiment.”

 

His arms come up over and behind his head. “I’m listening,” he says with a smirk.

 

Coming over him, Emma straddles him. “Make me breathless. No asking,” she says, her hair hanging around them like a curtain. “Make me regret saying that.”

 

He’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

0000

Enamoured. He’s enamoured with her. They spend the nights between their two bedrooms and poorly hiding their growing affection from Liam.

 

But the moment that cements everything for him is at the next transformation. He’s led her to his favorite part of the woods: a little clearing on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. It’s where he feels most as peace, regardless of whether he’s wolf or not. They’ve both got their places to hide away, but sometimes, just like a normal couple, he and Emma have got to hide away together.

 

“How did it happen to you?” he asks telepathically.  
  


“Did what happen?”  
  


His chuckle come outs as a wolfish grunt, his nose knocking playfully at her ear. “Am I to assume you were born with four legs and somehow changed into the delightful woman I’ve come to know?”  
  


Emma grumbles and shifts, scooting closer to him.  
  


“No.” Her head comes to rest on his side. “I was about 17, figuring out places to sleep whenever I got tired and stealing food from convenience stores. And I actually met my ex trying to get some Pop Tarts past a grocery store clerk.” She sighs and sinks further on to Killian. “He was older than me, but he was the first person who actually showed any sort of interest in me at all. He taught me how to hotwire cars. That’s how I got the Bug.”  
  


He can’t lie - Killian is hurt by the fact that his love’s trusty, if not a bit rusty, car is a remnant of a relationship gone awry. Especially when she continues her story.  
  


“He bit me,” she says, burying her snout into his fur as if trying to hide from shame or embarrassment. A little bit of both, perhaps, if the feeling he gets through their mental bond is anything to go by. “We had gotten a little too frisky in the back of the Bug and he broke the skin. Not that I thought it meant anything like this would happen in the long run.” Emma sighs again. “I was already running from the foster system, so I just kept running. And I had hoped he would come with, but he left shortly after.”  
  


He’d suspected it all this time - a lost girl has the same look as any other lost and lonely boy, regardless of the circumstances surrounding them. Even if he can’t admit it, it’s probably what drew Killian to her in the first place.  
  


(No, that was most definitely a combination of the sass and striking features.)  
  


“I spent most of my time in the woods when I was a wolf. I was pretty much dependent on cardboard boxes and homeless shelters when I was human.” Sniffing, Emma shuffles toward the edge of the cliff and, for the first time, Killian feels a sense of peace and contentment wash over the both of them.   
  


(Perhaps the water is calming for both of them.)  
  


“And then I gave up,” she says. “I got sick of couches and cots and cardboard boxes and I decided to grow up. Get a real job that gave me real money.” Pawing at the tip of her nose, Emma finally looks him in the eye. “I sent my resume to a police station in Boston and they put me in officer training two weeks later.”  
  


Killian stares at her, overwhelmed by her story as a whole and the emotions bleeding through their bond. It’s getting stronger each day, each transformation. He’s sure if he told Liam of the connection, his brother would force him to worry about it, be concerned over whether this whole “bonding” thing would take over his personality.  
  


But as he lays next to Emma, processing all she told him, Killian can’t find himself to care.  
  


“I’m sorry.”  
  


“Why on heaven and earth are you apologizing, love?”  
  


“I’ve got kind of a shitty story.” Her nose moves from the fur on his shoulder blade to lie right next to this face. “I’ve never really told it to anyone in one fell swoop before.” Her tongue sticks out, licking at her maw as a distraction. “You still aren’t saying anything.”

 

He brushes his nose against what would be her cheek in human form. “I’m quiet because I’m trying to figure out where your strength comes from,” he murmurs. “I haven’t said a word because I’m trying to determine how you not only survived, but thrived despite the circumstances you were given.” Killian licks the expanse of her face. “In total, I’d have to say that I’m completely astounded by the marvel that you are.”  
  


Emma hums, the hint of a smile appearing on her face. “I can’t be too sure with all that British talk, but I think that was a compliment.” She snuffles and pokes at his snout with hers. “Are you going soft on me, Jones? Buttering me up so I don’t yell at you when my period comes next week?”

 

Killian barks out a laugh, playfully biting at the space behind her ears. “Maybe,” he grumbles, laughing again when her paws come up and push him away from her. Emma snarls, standing up and moving to another place on the outcropping. She glares at him as she circles her new spot and lays down. With a roll of his head in his neck socket, Killian follows her, curling up beside her and nudging her nose with his. “Or perhaps I meant every single word I told you.”

 

She doesn’t say anything, her breath evening out shortly after, but killian does spot the hint of a smile on her face. Content ekes through their bond, along with joy and the warmth of familiarity. They’re already pretty close - Killian isn’t even nearly as close to his brother as he is with Swan, and surely he’s got to be closest person for her - but her revelation, her origin story for lack of a better term, cements in his mind just how important he is to her.

 

And how absolutely, unrecoverably in love with her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy Thanksgiving food coma to all my American friends and happy Friday to everyone in the rest of the world! Who wants to feel some thing?!

He doesn’t say anything: he doesn’t wake Emma up to tell her how important she is to him. He doesn’t mention it when they wake the next morning, nor as they drive back home or when they sit down to eat. Killian doesn’t know when to tell her, or even if he should. Now knowing about her last attempt at love, and knowing that it had resulted in her wolf condition and the multitude of other, unseen scars he’s sure she bears, he fears that any hint of this overwhelming emotional connection would cause her to run. Not only would that break Killian’s heart, but they’ve bonded on such a deep level. They’re in each other’s head quite literally. They depend on each other during the full moon. They’re family.

Fate, as it goes though, doesn’t allow Killian much time to ponder the matter. He’d always thought fate was something of a personal matter, shared only between the two parties of it and himself. But it seems that word got out: Killian Jones loves Emma Swan. And, as it tends to do, fate speeds events up.

At home, Killian and Emma spend all of their time in the happy little relationship bubble, whether they considered themselves a couple or not.

(Killian does, for the record. Emma might be more hesitant to do so, but her spending many more nights in his bed than her own, it’s a bit difficult to say their not a couple at all.)

It sickens Liam, a fact he has no issue in voicing and a matter which they enjoy teasing him over.

“Are you serious?” He asks indignantly, walking in to the living room to find the two of them curled up together on the couch. They’re spread out, huddled beneath a blanket, watching some silly hallmark movie.

“What’s the matter, Liam?” Emma inquires, fully aware of the reason. “It’s cold tonight. Want to join?” She lifts up the edge of the blanket behind her in invitation.

Huffing, Liam storms back in to the kitchen. Killian can hear the fridge open and shut, the clink of a beer bottle. His brother comes back in and thumps down on the armchair beside the couch. “As a reminder, little brother, I’ve spent so much time at Elsa’s because I didn’t want to disgust you such as you are currently disgusting me.”

Emma giggles into his shoulder. Killian shrugs. “Well, Swan here hasn’t got a place of her own and she pays her part of the rent in a timely manner every month,” he says. “She can do whatever she wants here.”

“Within reason,” Liam groans. He takes another sip of beer before shaking his head and repeating himself. “Within bloody reason.”

But outside in reality, where Emma still runs the sheriff’s department with an iron fist and Killian monitors Storybrooke’s marina with an eagle eye, there’s something...odd in the air. Though he can’t put a finger on anything specific, Killian has found himself feeling paranoid a lot more often. His hackles come up like the hairs on people’s arms or the backs of their necks raise when they feel someone watching them. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, catching a familiar scent on the wind that he can’t quite recognize. The breeze either picks it up too quickly or his mind is diverted to a visiting captain or the ring of a phone, and when Killian tries to focus on the scent again, it’s gone.

Emma doesn’t think anything of it when he asks her about it. The smell’s showed up daily for a week, putting him on a dangerous precipice. Though she can’t detect it, Emma can feel his anxiety through their bond.

(At least, he thinks, it’s distracting her from the overwhelming sense of adoration and love he feels in other moments, like when she winks at his from across the dinner table. Otherwise, he wouldn’t know quite what to do with himself.)

It’s too late, or too early, for him to be staring sleeplessly up at the ceiling one night. He’s got a slew of boy scouts visiting the harbor tomorrow, he needs his rest to deal with them civilly, but unconsciousness alludes him. He’s wracking his brain from where he might know that mysterious scent from.

“Killian, you’re scaring me,” she mumbles into his chest. Killian chuckles; he should’ve known Emma was awake just as he was.

“I’m sorry, love,” he murmurs back. Pressing his lips to her hair, he adds, “I just can’t shake the feeling.” A small shiver runs down her spine and she burrows closer to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from whatever may come.”

She glances up at him. “Even if it’s just your overactive imagination?” She asks.

“Even if,” he assures her. Even in her exhausted state, Emma pushes up on her elbow to kiss him. As she settles back against his chest, Killian says, a bit insulted, “I thought you happened to like my overactive imagination.”

Shrugging, Emma smiles against his skin. “On occasion.” He retaliates by pressing at her side, making her laugh and squirm. “Stop, stop it, we have to sleep. We’ve got work tomorrow.”

“And we have a functioning coffee maker,” he reasons, lifting the blanket from her body and covering it back up with his. “We can sleep when we’re dead.”

“Yeah, but we’re not dead yet.” She pokes at his chest. “Work is still going to expect us to be there and being productive whether we sleep tonight or not.”

Killian groans. She’s right, but she makes his blood sing and he wants to make sure that nothing would ever happen to her. He isn’t quite sure he could survive that. Conceding, Killian wraps an arm around Emma and pulls her close. Her breathing evens out shortly afterwards, and Killian is out for the count without another thought.

The next morning, grumbling as he makes his way down to his office building, Killian shivers and pulls his jacket closer to his body. It's cold, it's dark, and being anywhere but next to Emma in bed is not ideal. But he’s got the Boy Scouts to prepare for and he forgot his phone on his desk, and, as his love so aptly reminded him at dinner the night before, he's expecting an early morning call from a cruise company interested in starting day trips to and from Storybrooke and Portland.

(For what reason the entire marine world starts before sunrise, he'll never know.)

So here he is, in one of the last places he'd ever want to be at this hour, struggling with numb fingers to unlock the door to his office. He drops his keys and groans, because that's just how this morning is going.

And then he senses it: something in the air, a slight tinge to the scent that he wouldn't have noticed save for the fact that it's so out of place here in Storybrooke. It smells like - Killian sniffs and squints, trying to place the smell, because it's impossible.

It smells like the Hudson River.

He's certain of it. He wasn't around that water for too long once his senses heightened, but even a human nose could pick up the unusual hint of brackish water and sewage that makes the Hudson from all the rest of bodies of the water. There's nothing even close to that smell in this town.

But that doesn't make sense.

Quickly, Killian sniffs again and spins around, following the trail. It's coming from down the road, the source not too far. Looking off in the distance, he spots the faint outline of a shadow. It's shorter than the average man and seems to have what looks like three legs. He's sure that has to be the source, but how could a single person have that much of the scent of the Hudson so far away from the river itself?

His footsteps curious, he makes his way toward the figure. When a storefront alone separates them, the figure begins to move: he turns and starts jogging away, the ends of its hair flipping this way and that.

It's been quite a while, he'll admit, but as soon as it clicks, Killian calls on his wolf speed and runs until his chest hurts and his lungs threaten to explode.

It's Milah's husband. Mr. Gold. It has to be. A wolf's hide would keep stench longer than human skin and it would linger. That, combined with the stature and the appearance to him alone...there isn't even another possible answer. It's him.

The floodgates open and anger floods Killian's veins. This is the man who changed his life, who tore him away from the only real home he'd had in New York.

And as sudden as it comes, the madness leaves. If he hadn't left New York, Killian would've never met Emma. He would've never known what true love is. His footsteps begin to slow, his breath becoming less labored. In a certain light, Killian has this man to thank for the life he has now, even with the transformation.

But if Gold's here, something is amiss. This monster hasn't shown his face in months, nearly a year. And now that Emma is such a prominent figure in his life, it can't be good.

He feels the scent all around him, seeping into his pores and washing over him like nausea. No matter how hard he tries, now that he’s identified the scent, it follows him everywhere. Regardless of how many showers he takes or what delicious food surrounds him, Killian can still catch a whiff of Gold.

It scares him, though he doesn’t say so. He’s sure Emma can tell something is wrong even if he does his best to hide it - she’s bonded to him. If she can’t tell how frightened he is, then something would be very wrong.

Although it seems that it is.

Shortly after Gold’s appearance in town, the full moon once again appears. The two of them drive out to the old highway, sitting at the tree line until transformation overtakes them. Killian’s muscles start their monthly stretch, welcomed more than in his earlier transformations, and before he knows it, his eyesight is better, he can hear a rabbit a couple yards away, and the wolf within isn’t hiding anymore.

He turns around, ready to run after the woodland creatures with Emma, to find her still a human. Her eyes are wide in surprise, or maybe shock. To be fair, he’s never seen another wolf transform. Perhaps, neither has she. Killian cocks his head to the side, asking her if there was a problem.

She shrugs. “Give it a few minutes,” she says aloud. “Maybe I’m too tense or something. I need to relax.” Closing her eyes, Emma opens her palms and stands there, basking in the moonlight.

Five minutes pass. Ten. A full quarter hour goes by, Emma still in her peaceful stance and Killian itching to run. With a sigh, she opens her eyes. Her shoulders droop and she looks forlornly out into the woods. He can feel her desire to run, to get out there and stretch her muscles, through the bond. Approaching her, he nuzzles her hip, getting her to focus on him instead of her sadness.

“Don’t worry about me,” she says on another sigh. “Go ahead. Catch something for me.” Emma gestures to the truck. “I’m going to go home and sleep. I’ll come back in the morning to pick you up. Sound good?”

Killian whimpers in reluctant agreement. He watches her circle the front of the cab, get in, and start the engine. With a final wave, Emma turns back to town, the truck’s headlights leading the way through the dark. He watches until those lights disappear before trotting into the woods alone.

Emma’s inability to transform plagues his thoughts as he hunts rabbit and squirrel. When the sun crests the horizon, Killian makes his way back to the old highway spot, still troubled. True to her word, Emma sits in the driver’s seat, shadows dark beneath her eyes as she stares blankly forward. Silently, he gets in the passenger's side, gratefully taking the blanket and cup of coffee she offers him.

A pin could drop during the car ride home and it would echo for ages. Emma continues to stare out the windshield. She seems to be on autopilot: clicking the turn signal, checking her blindspot, and so on. Life only returns to her expression when they pull up to the house and she shuts the engine off. She takes the keys from the ignition and then sits, hands folded in her lap.

“I’ve never not changed before,” she says quietly. Staring at her clasped hands, Emma’s face goes vacant again. She bites at her bottom lip.

He hates to see her like this. Hasn’t really ever seen her this, to be frank, though he can safely say that it’s not an emotion he wants to see frequently decorate her face. Reaching a hand over, Killian grasps her hands.

“Is there any chance you’ve somehow been cured?” he asks just as softly. He’s not sure how that could have happened, but it’s the only reason he can think as to why Swan wouldn’t have transformed with him this month.

She shrugs, intertwining her fingers with his. “I haven’t done anything you haven’t done.” She sighs, rubbing at his knuckles in calming circles. Her shoulders deflate as Emma looks at him finally. “Is it bad if I admit that I don’t want to be cured? I like being able to run wild. Especially with you,” she says. “And now it’s just part of who I am.”

Killian chuckles for a moment. “No, that’s not bad at all,” he assures her. He brings her hand to his lips. “I love you no matter what you are or aren’t.”

A small grin appears on her face - a little pained, very much concerned, but Killian doesn’t let it phase him. He tugs on her hand a bit harder, forcing her over the console so he can kiss her properly, do his best to assuage her of her worries. When Emma pulls back, breathless, her smile has transformed into one of genuine pleasure. She unlocks the door and starts up toward the house, Killian a handful of steps behind her. As she fumbles with her keys, he comes up and rests a hand on the small of her back.

“Maybe you’re coming down with the flu or something?” he suggest as the front door swings open. “Have you ever been ill at the same time as the full moon?”

Emma considers his words, her tongue peeking out from between her lips. She sets her keys down on the hall table and makes her way into the kitchen. “Not that I can remember,” she responds, lost in her own world. She shrugs and reaches for the coffee machine. “You’re probably right. I have been a little nauseous lately. It’s probably just a stomach bug.”

Killian hums in confirmation as he pulls out two mugs.

But the full moon comes along the next month, and Killian once again transforms while Emma remains sitting beside the side of the truck bed. Her expression elongates into one of worry and sadness when she realizes she still has two legs while he’s loping along on four. Killian nuzzles up against her neck, pushing her gently and licking her cheek.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” she admits quietly, scratching the fur of his neck. “Go ahead. Have fun. I’ll be here in the morning.”

Again, he has to watch her slowly and morosely pile into the truck and drive back home with a solemn wave. When he comes to, paws turned back to hands, the next morning and makes his way back to the old highway, she’s once again sitting there. The truck’s engine is still running and, when he gets in the cab, Emma offers him a cup of coffee.

“How was it?” she asks, throwing the gear shift into reverse.

“Would’ve been better with you,” he says into the cup. He sips at his coffee and relishes in the warmth that spreads through his body. “How are you feeling?”

Emma shrugs. “Alright.”

“You’re not still sick, are you?”

“I mean,” she hesitates, checking each direction before turning on to the main road, “I kind of have a headache.” She sighs. “And I haven’t gotten my period yet. Maybe the two weeks are convincing this month.”

A groan comes unbidden from his lips. He can feel Emma’s glare even with his eyes closed. “Dear go above, help us all.”

As expected, and completely fairly, Emma smacks him in the chest. “Don’t be an ass,” she chides him. “If you’re an ass about this, I’m withholding sex for the foreseeable future.”

Taking her hand where it still rests on his chest, Killian holds it up. He presses a kiss to her palm with a smile.   
“Perish the thought, love,” he says.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” she says with a chuckle. “Works every time.”

“You make me sound predictable.”

Scoffing, Emma takes her hand back and glances quickly at him. “You, a warm-blooded man, predictable about sex?” She teases him. “Yes, you are predictable.”

“I’ll have to change that then.” At that moment, Emma pulls up their drive and puts the car in park. Killian surprises her, leaning over the center console and kissing her breathless, for all his worth. Pleasure spreads through the bond, the feeling moving swiftly in both directions as Emma meets him push for pull.

And then the disgust sours the connection.

“Ugh,” Emma grunts, shoving him back into his seat.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

She wipes her mouth, a distasteful look on her face. “You taste like outside.” Then she sniffs and her nose crinkles further. “And you smell like wet dog.”

Killian laughs, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Well, there are very logical reasons to both of those quandaries.”

“Yeah, well, until you solve those quandaries and shower, you need to stay away from me.” She sticks out her tongue in disgust again before exiting the car. “And get out of the car before you stink it up!”

His next transformation is one of the most unnerving yet. He misses the woods, but it’s the third month in a row that Emma’s not transformed. To say he’s worried, concerned, terrified, would be an understatement. All of his primal instincts intensify during the full moon, but none more so than his need and desire to protect his pack, his Swan.

So instead of running through the damp leaves and dodging the thick trunks of Storybrooke’s trees, Killian’s curled up in wolf form on their bed, his muzzle resting in Emma’s lap. She’s stroking his head, scratching behind his ears while he tries not to show how much he enjoys her ministrations.

“It’s okay to give in,” she murmurs, eyes unseeing as she stares at the wall. His ears cock down, his brow bone doing the same in confusion. Emma chuckles. “You’re so mellow and content through the bond, I know you like it. It’s okay to show it. I’m not going to judge you.”

A sound akin to a groan rips from his throat and Killian settles heavier on to her lap, letting his tail wag and his tongue loll out for a moment.

He’s so happy that it takes him longer than it should to realize something was off about his Swan. Pulling his tongue back behind his teeth, he presses his nose into her stomach, sniffing in earnest as Emma continues to pet him. His tail slows down.

“What’s up?” she asks, relaxing further back into the pillows behind her.

“Are you quite sure you’re not sick, Swan?” he asks her through their bond, an alarm going off in his head. He could bathe in Emma’s scent: it’s comforting and familiar, hints of cinnamon she’s fond of and wildflowers reminiscent of sunshine in addition to the musk of the woods around town adn the salt of the ocean. He knows that, as a pack, they share the last two notes, something he believes represents the best of their worlds splendidly.

But now, “Your scent is off,” he explains.

That gets her to focus, Emma humming in confusion. “How so?” She asks.

“There’s something,” he sniffs again, “fresh about it. Something new.” He pushes aside the hem of her pajama top and digs his nose further into her stomach, forcing a soft “oomph” from Emma. Killian’s surprised to sense a tinge of scent he associates with the Hudson River, like the dirt in the water he fell in after first transforming. caught off guard, Killian pulls back. His Swan’s never smelled like that before. “You kind of smell like me,” he says.

“That’s not surprising.” As best he can, Killian furrows his wolf brows. Emma nudges him off her lap and flips to face him on her side, grin growing on her lips. They both know and realize their scents linger on each other, are a fundamental part of the other’s, but Killian’s never smelt it this strong on her before. He hasn’t the slightest idea why, or what she means.

Her hand curls around her face, her fingers scratching through his fur. His eyes slide close, a sound echoing deep from his throat. She giggles. “I think that’s part of why I haven’t changed,” she murmurs.

His ears perk up, eyes shooting open. “You’ve figured it out?” Killian asks, straightening up. “How come you haven’t told me?”

Emma shrugs. “I wasn’t sure. But I got some pretty damning evidence earlier today.”

As if his attention wasn’t already piqued, Killian nudges her hand a little harder than necessary. “What?” he asks. “Love, what’s wrong?”

Licking her lips, his Swan smiles “I’m pregnant,” she whispers, a secret between the two of them. “I’m, like, 97 percent sure I’m pregnant.”

The news hits him like a ton of bricks. His response of “How?” comes out more as a reflex than as an actual question. She shoots him an incredulous look and he immediately regrets the word, lightly barking out a scoff. They live together, they run as wolves together - they haven’t been celibate, to say the least. He shakes his head, ruffling the scruff at his neck. “What I mean to ask is how did you come to that conclusion?” he rewords.

Chuckling, Emma pulls at the velvety softness of his ear. “I’ve been so focused on trying to figure out why I didn’t change that I sort of missed my other, more annoying monthly visitor,” she explains quietly. She shrugs again. “I took a test a test yesterday and another one this morning and they both came up positive.”

“A test?”

Rolling her eyes, she teases him, “Yes, a test. I know you’ve watched TV before. I know you know exactly what I’m talking about.” But her mouth hangs open a moment too long and Killian cocks his head to the side. Her cheeks redden and she looks away from him. “I mean, it might have been a couple more than _a_ both times.”

Hesitantly, Killian asks, “How many more?”

She shrugs. “Maybe a half dozen more?” she admits shyly, one eye squinting close and her nose scrunching up adorably. At another look from him, she sighs. “Think about it, Killian. Have you ever heard of a pregnant werewolf? It might just be like my period - it comes back after the baby’s born.” Her hand drags down the side of his neck, her nails calming against his skin. Slowly, she moves from his neck to rest on her belly. His current vantage point doesn’t belie the apparent child within it. “Besides, you said it yourself. My scent’s already changing.”

Still processing this new development, Killian nudges Emma’s shoulder, making her giggle as she falls on to her back once more. Her laughter becomes full fledged as he nuzzles his nose into her stomach. The mixed scent that emanates from there _does_ seem stronger.

Perhaps Swan is right.

“You’re okay with this, right?” she asks, drawing his attention back to her face. Given the past few minutes, it’s surprisingly neutral, though when Killian looks deeper into her green eyes, he spots fear. Concern. Uncertainty. She shakes her head. “I mean, there’s no backing out of it for me now, I’ve got to deal with it somehow, but, I mean, if you want-”

Were he human at the moment, Killian would have kissed her to stop her worrying. It’s got to be the happiest news he’s heard in his life, second maybe only to his 18th birthday, when he finally came to live with Liam permanently.

No, this was definitely better.

Alas, it was the full moon, and he was in wolf form while Emma was a human, and would stay so for at least the next handful of months. Still, he tries to express the feelings of...euphoria he feels through their bond, lovingly pawing at her arms. She smiles wildly, and he can only hope that she understands just how happy he is right now.

“I’m here for the long haul,” he promises her. “I’ll protect you from everything and anything. I’ll protect the both of you.” He licks the back of her hand, his tail thumping harshly against their bedsheets. An interesting thought pops into his head, his tail coming to a sudden halt. “How can I still talk to you when I’m like this and you’re not?” he asks.

“It _is_ still the full moon,” Emma reminds him, tapping him on the snout. “I guess some things stick, pregnancy or not.”

With a sigh, Swan pushes him off her lap and eases herself from sitting to standing. Killian whimpers at the loss, but also in concern for her. Knowing of her delicate condition as he now does, he can only imagine exertion and swift movements weren’t the best for her. The emotions must bleed through their bond, for Emma chuckles. She leans far enough on the mattress to scratch behind his ears. Unwillingly, Killian’s eyes close and a silly little smile comes across his lips.

(Gods above, he loves her.)

“I’ll be back,” she tells him quietly. “I just really want some Pringles.”

And with a kiss to the tip of his nose, Emma leaves their room. He can hear her footfalls as she makes her way down the hall and descends the stairs. Killian stands on the bed, circling around before settling on the mattress, head hanging heavily off the edge. As he hears the cabinet doors open and close in the kitchen, he stares out into the dark hallway.

A child. They’re having a child. And while that news makes him over the moon, it comes with its own problems and issues to worry over. Neither of them have much experience with children in any capacity, let alone the child of two werewolves. Already, things he wouldn’t have expected we’re happening: Killian would’ve never imagined a transformation without Emma. Now, he looked forward to the next few full moons solo.

But afterwards - would Emma be able to transform after the baby was born? Would the babe itself be born with their affliction?

Oh god, he thinks, adjusting himself so his tail was tucked beneath him. Raising a child was difficult enough. But raising a child who changed with every full moon.

“I could hear you thinking downstairs.” Swan’s voice makes him jump, his hackles rising. He’d been in such a tizzy that he’d failed to hear her come back to bed, red tube of chips in hand. She chuckles through a mouth full of chips. Before sitting back down in bed, Emma narrows her eyes at him. “Are you going to be like this the whole time?”

Cocking his head and his brow, Killian asks, “Like what?”

She sighs, pulling back the covers. “If you’re going to be like this for the rest of the pregnancy, I’m kicking you out.”

Killian barks a scoff, watching her as she goes about getting comfortable and ready for sleep. She’s singlehandedly messes with the sheets, pulling their quilt down to the foot of the bed with one while the other is stuck in the Pringles can. “You can’t kick me out,” he says. “I pay rent here. I lived here first.”

She flops back with a groan, the top sheet floating down on top of her as her head sinks into the pillow. “I’ll make Liam kick you out,” she threatens, though her words hold no malice.

Once she’s mostly still - his Swan has never really been a sedentary sort of woman - Killian curls up next to her, his jaw resting atop her hand. “That’s unfair, love,” he complains. “I’m allowed to worry for your well-being, especially in your current condition.”

Emma’s hand flips over beneath his jaw. Her fingers curl up under him, scratching at the fur of his chin. Killian sighs in content through his nose, his exhale strong enough to ruffles the hem of her shirt.

“Everything is going to be fine,” she reassures him softly. “You said you’d protect us, and I trust you.”

“But what about-”

“Killian.” Her voice is stern. It’s in the quiet that follows Killian offhandedly thinks. These conversations are interesting: Emma speaks aloud and hears his response in her mind, but somehow, all of their idiosyncrasies come through the bond. Hidden emotions and discussions carry on between the two of them regardless of their form. She breathes in deeply, her pulse slowing in her wrist and her chest expanding. “I’m scared too. I haven’t been this scared in a very long time,” she admits, a waver in her voice. Fear in the bond betrays her attempt to cover it in her vocal cords. “Everyone I love leaves me. I’m afraid that I’ll lose the baby or you’ll come to your senses.” She gently squeezes his jawbone.

He licks her wrist, a sign of support and solidarity. “Nothing can keep me away from you,” he promises. “I love you, love.” Then he moves to rest lightly on her stomach, hearing the gurgling and flow of her bloodstream. “And you, little pup.”

She chuckles to herself, her hand resting on his head. “There we go,” she says. “I can deal with you if you’re like this for the next couple of months.”

“Oh, good, I may stay in my own home?” he jests.

Emma nods. “You can stay.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF. IT'S CHRISTMASTIME NOW, HERE HAVE THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT.  
> and very merry thanks and snowy wishes if you want them to killiarious, wellhellotragic, and the mods at captainswanbigbang for all of the good stuff they've done for me. thank guys, you's my boos now.

Relaxing on the couch, feet resting on the coffee table, Emma slowly works her way through a tub of ice cream. She’s staring blankly at the television, some infomercial flashing on mute across the screen, when Killian eases himself down next to her. For a moment or two, he watches her, watches as the spoon in her hand leisurely travels from the carton of Breyers to her mouth.  
  


What they - the doctors, the books, the gurus or whatever - say about pregnant women glowing is absolutely true. The green of her eyes bursts with it, made all the more brighter when she smiles. She’s beautiful. He thinks that a lot: how on this planet, in this realm or another, did this woman not only decide that he was worthy of her presence, but fall in love with him and conceive their child? It’s unbelievable.  
  


Her hand on his knee brings him from his reverie. He knows a goofy grin is on his face, but he can’t help it.  
  


“We’ve got to tell Liam,” she states, squeezing his knee. The jerk reaction it spawns is partially unconscious, but another part is from her words. Killian’s smile falls a bit, the corners not nearly as high as seconds before.  
  


And then her suggestion fully sinks in and Killian groans, “Swan, must we?” as his head lolls back on the couch.  
  


“Killian,” she chides him. The spoon in her hand finds itself resting against the edge of the empty ice cream carton. Leaning forward, Emma trades the trash and reaches for the remote, turning the television off before turning to him. “We live with your brother and now that we’re pretty sure I’m not going to transform every month, he’s going to notice.” Killian groans again, his eyes sliding shut. Emma takes his hand in hers. They’re colder than normal due to the dessert. “You might think he is, but your brother isn’t actually stupid,” she counters. And then she shrugs. “Besides, he’ll be happy like we are.”  
  


“You can’t be sure. I feel like having a child out of wedlock is exactly what he had envisioned his werewolf younger brother making of his life.”  
  


This time, Emma moans, gripping his hand harder. He rolls his head so he can look at her. He finds the passion behind her green eyes, and knows he’s in for a speech.  
  


“Liam raised you after your mother died and your father was a dick. You and I have never been part of a conventional family.” She glances down at her stomach, her free hand coming to rest at the barely-there bump he can’t see, but can feel when he touches her. “But now we’re made our own family: you, me, Liam. And we’re expanding it.” Her head falls heavy on his shoulder. “Don’t think of it as telling your older brother you accidentally knocked up your girlfriend. Think of it as telling the kid we already have that they’re getting a little brother of sister.”  
  


Killian sighs and brings her hands up to his mouth. He kisses her fingers, still a tad chilly. “I understand the metaphor you were going for, love,” he says, “but in case you’ve forgotten, Liam’s already got a younger brother.” His final kiss has a the hint of a smile when it hits her palm. “It’s me.”  
  


Frustrated, Emma groans, taking her hand from his. “I know. It worked better in my head,” she admits.

 

Bending down, Killian presses his lips to her shirt-covered stomach. “Have you already got your mum a little disoriented?” he asks, gently poking the bump.

 

Emma lightly smacks his shoulder, pushing him back to sitting. “If you keep that up, we won’t have to tell Liam,” she mumbles. “He’s going to be able to figure it out on his own.”

 

He points to the bowl of fruit sitting on the kitchen counter behind them. “Swan, my brother wouldn’t be able to point out that apple even if it were right in front of him,” Killian quips back.

 

“Now you’re the one not making sense,” she says with a laugh. Leaning over, she presses her lips, cold and sticky from the ice cream, to his cheek. “Liam’s smart, okay? We need to tell him.” Before Killian can even fully open his mouth to argue, her fingers come over his lips. “Don’t fight with the pregnant lady. Rule number one for daddy-to-be. Look it up.”

 

He doesn't. At least, not for the moment. There will be bigger fish to fry the further along in this experience they both get to have.

 

That doesn’t mean Killian doesn't absolutely dread telling his older brother he’s going to be an uncle.

 

It happens one evening as they sit at dinner. Liam regales the two of them with the results of a call he received at the station today, something about public nudity and a bachelor party gone wrong. It had the whole station and everyone at the table laughing uncontrollably.

 

“But why were they having a bachelor party in the middle of the day?” Emma asks, wiping at the tears unbiddenly rolling from her cheeks.

 

“No one could tell!” Liam exclaims, slapping the kitchen table as laughter renews.

Killian laughs, because even objectively, the tale is humorous. But time is beginning to run short - Emma was complaining this morning of how her clothes already don’t fit as well as they once did - and they’ve got to tell Liam. When they all start calming down, deep breaths and belated snorts, Killian takes Swan’s hand beneath the table and centers himself.

 

“Liam, we’ve got something to tell you,” he addresses his brother, glancing subtly at Emma. By the way her fingers squeeze around his, he knows that she’s aware of what’s coming. Looking back across the table, Killian says, “It’s a bit important.”

 

Though he was in the midst of a beginning to eat again, Liam’s fork freezes in mid air, his mouth hanging open. After a moment, the fork resumes it’s journey into Liam’s mouth. He chews for a bit, swallows, then asks, “You’re still wolves, aye?”

 

Killian chuckles. “Yes, Liam.”

 

He nods. “Good.” Killian tilts his head to the side, confused by the sentiment. Liam shrugs. “What? I like having built-in guard dogs that also pay rent.”

 

Doing his best impression of Emma, Killian rolls his eyes. He’s 104 percent sure she does the same. “Using us aside, it’s a tad bigger than that.”

 

“Have you popped the question yet?”

 

Emma turns sharply toward Killian, and he feels the tips of his ears burn. He’s flabbergasted that Liam would suggest that, especially if he knows - and surely, he knows, or at least has an inkling - that Killian did want to ask Emma to marry him. Eventually.

 

She must sense the hesitancy and embarrassment between their bond, for Emma scoffs and takes changes, as she’s wont to do.

 

“God, Liam, you’re dense,” she says, pulling their clasped hands over her stomach under the table. “I’m pregnant, you idiot.”

 

This time, the fork doesn’t stop in midair: it clatters on to Liam’s plate. “Pregnant?” he mumbles, hunched over the table. His eyes go wide and he turns them to Killian. There’s a fire lit up behind them. “You’ve knocked her up?”

 

“Okay, first off, I’m right here.” Emma lets go of Killian’s hand to gesture wildly. “Second, you know as much as I do that we’re far from celibate.”

 

Liam holds his hand up. “I don’t need to be reminded.”

 

A bit of panic bleeds through their bond from Emma at his reaction. It’s stronger than many of her emotions have been lately, something Killian chalks up to the sudden onset. She’s worried that Liam’s going to kick her out. They’re brothers, family, but she’s the outsider.

 

Grabbing her hand again and resting them both on the top side of the table now, Killian says, “Look, Liam. Neither of us expected this to happen, but we’re excited about it.” He brings Emma’s hand to his lips, winking at her as he presses them against her knuckles. “It’s going to be yet another adventure we get to share together.”

 

Silence envelops them, a stark contrast from the boisterous laughter that soaked them mere minutes ago. Liam’s quiet, his silverware set down as he processes the information. At long last, he picks up his fork again and, between bites, says, “Uncle Liam’s got a nice ring to it.”

 

The relief that floods through their bond in both directions is welcomed. Killian’s glad that his brother, straight laced and traditional as he is, is taking the news so well. Emma, he can tell, is happy that their little family is going to be that - a family. One that’ll be better than either of their experiences with the matter, god willing. Emma shakes her head, a contented smile on her face as she stands from the table.

 

“Well, as exciting as this all is, excitement does not do the dishes,” she says, grabbing her plate and heading into the kitchen. “When you boys are ready, I’m more than happy for you to start being overprotective of me and doing the dishes in my stead!”

 

Killian watches her disappear to the next room. When the tips of her blonde hair whisk around the corner, Killian sobers quickly.

 

“Uh oh,” Liam says. “Why do you have your business face on?”

 

“We’re telling you this now for a reason,” killian explains. “Apparently, a side effect of pregnancy in werewolves is the inability to change.”

 

Nodding, Liam makes a sound of understanding. “That makes sense now,” he murmurs. He looks across the table at Killian. “So she’s human until the babe comes.”

 

“Exactly.” Something clatters in the kitchen as Killian shakes his head. Even though she’s muttering under her breath, he can still hear Emma’s curses. “So if you could keep an eye out for her esp-”

 

“Of course,” his brother says without hesitation.

 

“Especially while at the station,” Killian completes his thought.

 

In a move surprising Killian, Liam reaches across the table and grips his arm. His expression is serious as a heart attack. “Emma is the closest thing I’ll ever have to a sister, little brother. Do you really think I’m not constantly worried for her already?” He lets go and scoffs, crossing his arms. She’s been a part of this family since the day you brought her home as a stray. That’s not going to stop because you decided to impregnate her.”

 

Killian groans, “Alright, don’t be crass.” Emma’s humming to herself by the sink, lost in her own little world and not listening in on their conversation, thank the gods. It’s the only reason, he knows, why she isn’t currently blubbering over to the table to embrace his brother.

 

Still, he won’t stand for any of that sort of talk about his Swan. He points to the kitchen entryway. “That’s my love you’re talking about.”

 

When he leans over the table this time, Liam stands up and claps Killian on the shoulder. “And the mother of your child now,” he says. A chuckle turns in to a hearty laugh. “Christ alive, you’re to be a dad.”

 

It’s the first time anyone’s really said that to him, called him a dad. It’s only fitting that his elder brother, the father figure in his life, is the man to do it.

 

But the thought crashes into him like a bag of bricks. He slouches in his seat, his hand coming to run through his hair. “I suppose I am,” he replies, a little dazed.

 

“Any thoughts on the topic, little brother?” Liam asks.

 

Sending his brother a side eye, Killian says,”haven’t really thought about the whole thing in its entirety yet.” He sighs and braces his elbows on the tale, his head in his hands. “It’s still a bit new.”

 

With his eyes submerged in darkness, Killian’s sense of hearing heightens ever so slightly. He can hear the soft creak of Liam’s chair as he stands up, the quiet swish of the carpet as his brother makes his way to his sid elf the table. Liam’s hand falls to the back of Killian’s neck in solidarity.

 

“Well, I can’t offer much, but I’ll do my best to help you figure it all out,” he says. “I know you don’t really have any frame of reference for fatherhood, but neither did I and I don’t believe you turned out too horribly.”

 

It tugs at Killian’s heart. Decades later, and his elder brother, for some reason, still thinks he wasn’t the best situation for him, for his life. He sits up and looks at Liam, only able to say his name in a tone he hopes conveys the graciousness he can’t ever put words to.

 

Quietly, Emma comes back into the room and takes Killian’s hand. She must be able to feel the level of emotion he’s trying to express. “Liam, as much as you doubt yourself now and then, I can tell you, as a third party, that you raised this one well.” She smiles at Liam as she pulls Killian’s hand to her lips and kisses it. “With the two of you in their life, this kid is going to have the perfect father in their life.” Both Jones brothers open their mouths, unable to accept any compliment like that knowing their faults and mistakes in life.

 

Emma holds up her hand, stopping their protests in action. “And they aren’t going to get a word in edgewise in any argument ever.” She sighs, patting Killian’s hand before letting it go. “No, are you going to make the pregnant lady clean up all of dinner, because I don’t think that falls into showing off good form at all.”

 

Liam gives her a one-armed hug on his way to pick up the dishes, pressing a buss to her cheek. He’s out to the kitchen in a flash. Killian, on the other hand, takes his time, gradually rising and pulling Emma into his chest.

 

“That went well,” she says into his shirt.

 

“You don’t even know the half of it, love.” He press his mouth to her hair, breathing in her evolving scent for comfort. “I love you.”

 

She giggles out, “I love you too.”

0000

Killian’s perception of pregnancy only comes from mass media. He expects the moaning and groaning, weird cravings, and all of that. He’s prepared for all of that.

 

He’s woefully unprepared for werewolf pregnancy.

 

Emma is wonderful - witty, lovely, beautiful. He loves her every which way he can think, and even the ones he can’t. But with her senses already heightened due to their shared condition, Emma is a bridezilla of pregnancy.

 

The one that’s the most disconcerting is her sense of smell. One evening, just into her second trimester, Killian hops into the shower upstairs. He drenches himself, washing any lingering harbor scent off him. Lost in his own little world, he doesn’t think about popping open the new bottle of soap until he hears the quick, thumping steps coming up the stairs and toward the bathroom. The door crashes open and then all he can hear is the rush of the water falling on him and retching.

 

Swiftly wiping at his eyes, Killian peeks from behind the shower curtain to find Emma vomiting, on her knees and resting her forehead on the toilet bowl.

 

“Emma!” he shouts, pulling the curtain all the way back without hesitation. The shower streams continue to pelt down on his back, but Killian gets out, stark naked, and rushes to her side. “Are you alright, love?”

 

Slowly, Emma sits upright. Killian pushes her hair over her shoulders, grasping it all together in a ponytail. She covers her nose and mouth with her hand. The other hand pats his cheek, then gently nudges him away.

 

“What did you just open?” she asks, her voice slightly muffled by the water and her hand.

 

“What?” It’s a non sequitur to him. Looking back at the shower, Killian spots the bottle of soap, the cap still open. “I got a new bottle of soap?”

 

Emma shakes her head almost as much as her legs shake as she tries to stand up. “Get rid of it,” she says, her hand coming away from her face just long enough to get the words out. “Throw it out. It smells horrible. You will not survive to see our child if you continue to use that soap.”

 

Hands up in surrender, Killian stands up. “Alright, okay, I’m sorry,” he apologizes softly. He reaches through the water, closes the soap, and throws it in the trash can.”

 

Sighing, Emma rubs his dry arm. “You didn’t know,” she comforts him. “You don’t have to apologize. Just…” she stares at the garbage and shakes her head. “I can’t. Stop wasting water. Finish your shower and then take the trash out.” When she breathes in deeply, her nose crinkles and a hand comes to rest on her stomach. “I’m going to take a walk.”

 

“I’m sorry again, Swan.” Before jumping back in the shower, Killian kisses her on the cheek and sees her out of the bathroom.

 

When they see each other again, it’s in bed that night. He’s showered and tucked into bed, reading to himself as Emma washes her face. She comes from the bathroom, the edge of her sleep shirt swishing a little bit higher than normal due to her belly.

 

“Feeling better?” he asks softly, watching her climb into bed.

 

“Much.” Under the covers, she shifts until she’s up against his side, her head cradled in the dip of his arm and shoulder.

 

“How did you smell that soap?”

 

She shrugs. “Well, I was down in the kitchen looking for something to eat and - ”

 

“You were in the kitchen?” he interrupts her.

 

Emma nods. She looks up at him. “What? Even in human women, olfactory senses can be heightened during pregnancy.” She shrugs again. “See as we’ve already got a better sense of smell than humans, it kind of makes sense.”

 

Killian makes a humming noise as she settles back into him. “That’s incredible,” he tells her, stroking her arm.

 

“I’m glad you think so,” she scoffs. “I’m not too thrilled with it.”

 

Glancing down at her, Killian asks, “Why not?”

 

“Why not?” Emma sits upright, increasing the distance between them. Her face shows incredulity. “Killian, you remember what it was like to share a room with kids you didn’t know, right?” He nods: a space that was supposed to be a personal safe haven, more often than not ruined by drugs or snoring. Pointing at him, Emma continues, “Pregnancy is like that, but worse. You can leave a room, even if it’s supposedly yours. I can’t drop anything about the pup. It is with me all day, everyday, no escape.”

 

He understands where she’s coming from - there is no rest from carrying and growing another human being. But her use of a word distracts him from comforting her and making her feel more confident in the process she has very little say in at the moment.

 

“Pup?”

 

Her eyes widen. “Don’t tell me you hadn’t thought about the baby that way.” Killian shakes his head. Emma’s mouth drops and begins to wave her hands around. “I thought I heard you say it over the bond! That’s why I started referring to it that way!”

 

Killian chuckles, leaning forward to press his lips to her forehead. “Don’t worry, my love,” he reassures her. “I’ll love you even if the voices tell you otherwise.”

 

Maybe it’s an effect of the pregnancy, but Emma certainly puts her own dramatic flair to crossing her arms and turning her back to him. “I hate you,” she grumbles.

 

“No you don’t,” he whispers, kissing the fabric at her shoulder. Persistent as he has been from the beginning, Killian won’t allow her to go to sleep grumpy like this. It’s bound to affect her sleep, and if she’s already having trouble enough, that will only make her mood worse tomorrow.

 

“Yes I do,” she replies, huddling further into the blankets, but not pulling away from his ministrations yet. “You’re the worst person ever. I wish I had never met you and I especially wish you hadn't knocked me up.”

 

Not without resistance, Killian manages to roll her over onto her back. Her eyes are squeezed shut and her face is scrunched up in protest. “Emma Swan, you can hate me all you want.” He brushes away the stray hairs that have fallen on to her face. “If you want me to leave, all you have to do is ask and I’ll be gone in a flash,” he promises her. And it’s true: he loves her so much that he would be willing to leave her be if that’s what she wanted.

 

She doesn’t though. He can tell, even though he doesn’t know all her stories, that she’s lived a lot of her life alone and abandoned. If there were any way he could prevent the cold and closed off woman he first met from coming back, he would do it. He loves this warm and open Emma Swan.

 

He kisses her cheek and murmurs, “But I know you.”

 

Sighing, Emma squints open one eye. “Open book?” she inquires.

 

“Open book, that’s right,” he confirms with a chuckle and a nod. “And even if you hate me everyday for the rest of our lives, I will love you.”

 

He can feel the tension leave her body as much as he can see it. Her shoulders relax, her eyes ease open, and she lets out a heavy breath. “I don’t want you to leave,” she says.

 

“I know, darling.”

 

“Like ever.”

 

Killian nods, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “Aye, I’m aware.”

 

“Good. Just wanted that to be clear.” With a small smile, Emma pulls him down for a kiss, needing the sense of closeness and familiarity that only intimacy can provide. “So you didn’t refer to it as a pup?” she asks.

 

Laughing, Killian says, “I didn’t.” Her face begins to crunch in confusion and disappointment again, so he tries to stop those emotions before they catch on. “But I like it.”

 

Her eyes brighten and she perks up. “You do?”

 

“Aye.” Killian reaches beneath her sleep shirt and runs his hand over the bump of her belly. “What about you, lil pup? Any thoughts?”

 

Their child must understand that something has just happened outside of its weird world: for the first time, both of them feel a kick, a nudge, a punch. Their eyes connect, both pairs wide with wonder.

 

“You felt that, right?” Emma asks uncertainty. “I didn’t just make that up like I made up you calling it a pup?”

 

Killian shakes his head, his lips breaking out into a smile. “Oh, I felt that alright,” he assures her. He pushes her shirt up further, baring skin, and bends down until his face is even with her stomach. “I do believe the pup was saying hello.”

 

Emma laughs breathlessly, one of her hands going to cradle her belly and the other resting in his hair. “Hi there, baby,” she says softly. “Do you think you could be a little easier on me? I love you and everything, but this rollercoaster is getting to be too much.” The baby kicks once more, then seems to find itself  comfortable position and settles down. Emma hums as Killian continues to stroke her skin. “I guess they decided to listen to me for once.”

 

“I’m sure they’ll begin to listen once they’re here for real.”

 

“I doubt it.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so thanks to new tumblr rules, I will not be including wellhellotragic‘s beautiful art in this post, but I will attempt to put all of it up in their appropriate chapters on AO3 in a timely manner (aka probably Sunday). that being said, ONWARD TO THIS EXCITING CHAPTER!
> 
> thanks as always to wellhellotragic, killiarious, and the mods at captainswanbigbang for all the things. :)

Life moves along swimmingly. Much to no one’s surprise, Emma still insists on working everyday she can at the station and even pulling some of the night shifts and patrols, as if she wasn’t pregnant at all. No matter how many times they get up and arms - together and as separate entities - Killian and Liam’s crusade is useless.

Killian knows how exhausted she is from all the work she’s doing. He watches as she winces when she gets off her feet at night and how she applies pressure to her lower back when she brushes her teeth. She’s running herself ragged, and for what reason,  he’s not sure.

“Swan, love, you need to take it easier,” he warns her yet again one night as she crawls into bed. “You’re doing a lot more than anyone else in this house at any given moment.”

Emma groans, flopping on her back on top of the blankets. “I am not sick, I am not actually dying even if I feel like it most days,” she explains, flipping on to her side to face him. “I am perfectly capable of living life as I was before.”

“And I’m not denying that, darling,” Killian assures her. His palm comes to her cheek, his thumb caressing the tired circles beneath her eyes. “But you most certainly can take some time to slow down. Liam would be more than happy to take on a few more hours here and there so you can go home and nap like I know you want to.”

She sighs. “A nap sounds nice.”

Grinning, Killian chuckles. “I know it does.” He leans forward and presses his lips to hers. “You need to take care of yourself. I know you love this pup, but that big heart of yours can only do so much. You need to take breaks.”

“I know,” she admits, allowing her head to sink further into the pillow. “I just don’t know what to do with this help. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone to depend on.”

It’s good to see her relax like this. She needs this, and it’s calming him down as well. “If I have any say in it, you’ll always have someone to depend on for the foreseeable future.”

“Is that a promise?” she asks softly. Her voice is lower and the rhythm of her chest is beginning to even out.

Killian nods, his hair making shushes against the fabric of the pillow. “I’m in this for the long haul, my love.”

She’s asleep before she can open her mouth to respond. He follows her shortly into unconsciousness.

It’s the last time in a long time that he feels that his world is safe, conscious or otherwise. Killian wakes up the next morning to Emma pillowed on his chest, her fingers curled into his skin. He’s content, though sad to leave her like this. The sea never sleeps and neither, then, did his work. Up before the sun more often than not, even if it means leaving his love behind.

He goes about his morning fairly well, making his rounds and reports, lunch with Liam the only thing keeping his mind from completely shutting down. The appointed hour comes around and Killian swings his office door shut when something catches his attention.

It’s that smell. Like the Hudson, brackish and bracing, and it makes every hair on his body stand up and then some. Killian whirls around, growling at whatever monster dares to sneak up on him like this.

It’s the man he saw in the alley the other day, Milah’s ex-husband, except Killian can see his face better in this light. He’s got scars over his skin, his limp is much more pronounced, and this time, he’s grinning from ear to ear in the most disturbing manner Killian’s ever had the misfortune of seeing.

“You,” Killian growls. His fists ball up and he can feel the wolf inside of him prep for attack.

“Always nice to hear an impression was made,” Gold replies. He swings his cane up and over his shoulder and takes a step closer to Killian, his limp disappeared. So the man is a theatrical as Milah alleged he was.

“What are you doing here?” The wind blows and Gold’s scent wafts in his direction, making Killian scrunch his nose in disgust. “Why have you been following me?”

Gold nods and, somehow, his grin gets wider. And more frightening. “So the bite did take,” he says.

“What?” The wolf howls and Killian’s got to rein both the animal and himself in. And then it makes sense. After his fight with this man, Killian got sick on the ship. The migraines, the transformation, all of it happened after Gold bit him. How did he not connect the dots until just this moment? He remembers Liam patching him up and starting this whole path in life.

Killian had always assumed that it was just something that had happened, something that was sparked by the fight, not because of _him_. Then he had thought it was an accident, that perhaps gold was as thrown off as Killian had been.

It appears not.

“You knew?” Killian screeches.

“Of course I knew,” Gold says, strolling straight up to Killian. Luckily the man was quite a bit shorter than him, but the threat and menace coming off of him, made he seem three feet taller than Killian. “In my experience, there’s been a 50/50 chance that the bitten becomes afflicted.”

Killian shoves him back. The man barely stumbles, merely sets his cane back on the ground. “Gods above, man, why?”

He shrugs, passive as ever. Looking off toward the rest of town, Gold says, “Looks to me like you’ve found yourself a new bitch.”

And that’s what gets him. He can deal with anyone coming after him, but not Emma. She’s had enough bad draws in her life and this man has no right to talk about her in such a way. Killian’s ifst moves before the rest of his body understands what’s happening.

Gold barely reacts. His head moves with the force, but his smile never wavers.

“How dare you refer to her like that!” Killian shouts.

“A man of honor takes another’s wife and son. It’s only fair that he have to suffer the same fate, wouldn’t you agree?”

His stomach drops. Gold believes Killian took his family.

So he wants to take away Killian’s.

 _Emma_.

_The babe._

Killian attempts to backtrack. He can’t lose them in any matter. He raises his hands in surrender, though the last thing he’s thinking of is surrendering. “I merely did as Milah requested,” Killian says.

And that’s what gets Gold. He loses his cool immediately: his face goes red and when he yells, “You took her from me!” spittle accompanies his words.

“I didn’t know!”

“You should have asked!” Gold shouts. “A woman and a small child asking for a one-way trip and you didn’t think to ask where her husband might be!”

“It’s the 21st century, mate! She can bloody do what she bloody wants, like any other person!”

Gold shrugs again and he begins to back away. Once more, he kicks his cane over his shoulder. “Well, ‘tis too late to dwell on the matter,” he says. His face goes blank as he adds, “She and the pup will be mine.”

Then he’s gone. Killian swears that he disappears into thin air, too stunned to respond to anything. His heart stops for years and then speeds him closer to cardiac arrest.

Liam can wait. He’ll understand later. Better to ask forgiveness and all.

He’s frantic, his mind all over the place and the wolf in him is not helping at _all_. The animal is preying and, at the same time, outraged that an adversary would _dare_ to approach his mate, his property, his turf. Killian doesn’t even think to breathe as he’s running, down the wood of the docks and on to the sidewalk, all the way back to their home. He bounds up the front porch steps and all but kicks the front door in, the knob somehow bouncing off the wall and not leaving a hole.  
“EMMA!” he yells, concern and fear causing his voice to break. “EMMA, LOVE, WHERE ARE YOU?”  
The kitchen is empty, as is the living room. There’s no sign of his love or his brother, but one of them has to be home. The back door is open, the screen letting in a breeze, so someone has got to be home.  
Unless…  
“No,” he murmurs to himself. “No, no, no…”  
“Killian?”  
Her voice, timid as it may be, is heavensent. Killian whips around so fast, his neck cracks at the movement. Standing at the top of the stairs, Emma’s brow is furrowed in concern. She’s got one hand on the railing and the other resting protectively on her bump. Killian can feel his own shoulders slump in relief, his lungs expanding for the first time since encountering Rumple.  
“Babe, I could smell your nerves from up here,” she says, taking a step down toward him. “What’s wrong?”  
Shaking his head, Killian bounds up the stairs so fast that Emma takes a couple steps back on the landing. He wraps his arms around her fiercely, his embrace expressing all the relief he can’t quite put into words. Once satisfied that she’s okay, he kneels down and kisses her stomach. Killian lays his forehead against the fabric of her shirt until he senses the babe’s scent, a perfect union of Emma’s sunny disposition and his raw musk that he briefly thought he’d lost.   
As if sensing their father’s distress, the pup reaches out and kicks Killian in the nose through their safe haven. Killian chuckles with a sigh.  
“Killian, you’re really scaring me.” Emma’s voice brings him back to reality. Looking up at her, he can see her eyes widen as he rises to standing once more. “What’s wrong?” she asks again.  
Hand coming to her cheek, Killian stares at her for a minute. He wants to protect her, protect the both of them, but protection is a double-edged sword. If he tells her, she’s naturally going to worry about him, and that wouldn’t do well for the babe. But if he doesn’t tell her, then she’s oblivious and he’d be forced to lie to her, something that so many people in her life have done before him.  
Taking a deep breath, Killian steels himself. He won’t lie to her.   
“There’s a man from my past in town,” he says. Her expression is confused, questioning as to why that would inspire such a negative response from him. Swallowing his nerves, Killian adds, “He’s the one who bit me, who turned me.”  
“What? Are you okay?” Her hands come to frame his face, her thumb brushing over his cheekbones. Her eyes search his, flicking from one to the other and finding different answers in each one.  
And despite everything, Killian scoffs and smiles. His forehead rests against Emma’s, drawing strength from her. “No, don’t worry about me, love,” he assures her. “He’s coming after you.”  
“Why?”  
“Because he believes I wronged him.” He brushes his nose against hers and then presses a kiss to her forehead. Sliding his hand down to hers, Killian entwines their fingers and gently pulls her toward the top step. “You should sit, darling. Standing this long isn’t particularly healthy.”  
And, despite all the tension and fear that he’s feeling and he knows he’s giving off, Emma laughs. “Killian, I was folding and putting away laundry when you came in, I don’t need to sit.” Her laugh fills him with love and warmth, a welcome reprieve after the sternness and ice of Gold’s appearance, but Killian can’t help but glare at her as she takes a seat on the ground.   
“Swan, I’m quite serious,” he urges. “I helped his wife and son escape his clutches shortly before I was bitten.”  
“‘Escape his clutches,’” Emma mimics him, still chuckling as her toes shift through the carpet beneath them. “I didn’t know you were in contact with evildoers from 1960s’ movies.”  
Sitting besides her, Killian rubs his hand across his forehead, then scrubs it down his face. He thinks back to what Gold said, back to Milah and her boy and how scared she was about making the right choice. He’s thinking so hard he doesn’t realize he speaks aloud when he mutters, “I’ve got to tell Liam. He’ll help watch you.”  
“Watch me?” Eyes still a bit out of focus, Killian looks at Emma. Her expression has changed from one of good nature to fury of a hurricane. She’s sitting up as straight as she can, given her stomach, her arms crossed over her chest and her knees nearly crashing into his thigh. “Killian, in case you forgot, I’m the sheriff here. I’m not going to sit inside all day waiting for this guy to come for me, if he even comes for me!” She huffs, a blush building on her cheeks and her eyes alight with anger. Her hands unravel from her chest and she gestures them sharply. “It is literally in my job description for me to go out and deal with this guy!”  
“Well, then have Liam take over!” he suggests, even though he knows that is the last thing he should have said.  
Emma grabs at the railing and hoists herself up to standing. Still fuming, she begins pacing the landing behind him, leaving Killian to contort himself uncomfortably and watch her. She walks past him a handful of times, opening her mouth a few times as if to say something, but always shakes her head and continues her walk.  
Finally, she stops in front of him, her fingers templed in front of her mouth and her eyes closed. She’s processing, going over each and every word she plans to say. This has happened a couple of times, but only when she’s especially angry at him.  
To be fair, he isn’t quite sure why she’s so angry. But when Emma opens her eyes, they focus straight on him.  
“You are being absurd, Killian,” she tells him.  
“I told you,” he insists as he stands up, “I told you I would protect both of you, no matter what I had to do.”  
“Yes, I understand that, but you can’t do that by infringing on what little freedom and life of my own I still have right now.” Inhaling deeply, Emma blinks slowly. “Look, I’m going to be stepping back with patrols and transferring over to desk duty sooner than you think.” She finally sighs, her hands falling to her sides and grasping for his. “I’m going to be fine,” she says with a squeeze of his hands. Killian responds to the force, taking in her soft smile, and then watches her head back to their bedroom. She stops at the door frame and turns back to him, her hand brushing her stomach. “We’re going to be fine,” she reassures him.

Adoration consumes him, both from his own feelings as well as from Emma through the bond. Looking at her, gazing down at the physical proof of their love, Killian cannot imagine a life before them or a life without them. She might think that they’re not in danger, but he knows better. Though they’ve only come in to face-to-face contact a handful of times, Killian knows Gold will stop at nothing to achieve his goal. He remembers the fear and worry in Milah’s expression, figures he always will. That man is ruthless.

But so is he. And he’s got a plan in order to stave off Gold and keep him away from Storybrooke forever.

“I’m going to find Milah.” He announces his decision as a greeting when he comes to visit Emma at work one afternoon. It makes her choke on her drink, and Killian mentally scolds himself. He rushes to her side and pats her on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” she says after her coughing dies down.

Killian repeats himself and, if it’s possible, Emma’s eyes go wider. He shrugs. “Maybe if he sees her again, he’ll stop this revenge nonsense,” he explains.

Setting her cup down, she says, “But you said she wasn’t in a good situation. You said she was frightened.” Emma gestures wildly. “She’s been free for years at this point. You don’t want to subject her to that toxicity again, do you?”

“If connecting these two people keep the two fo you safe,” he says, reaching across the desk to grab her hand, “Emma, my darling, I’m willing to do it.”

Emma yanks her hand back and stands. “That’s not the Killian I know,” she says, callous and cold. “The Killian I know wouldn’t ever go back on his heroics if it ultimately hurt someone.”

He watches her march out of the office, leaving him more than a little confused. A moment later, she comes back in.

“This is my office, you’re the one who has to leave. I’ve got work to do.”

He starts to plead her name, but Emma holds up a hand. “Go away. Please,” she murmurs.

As he’s always done, Killian heeds her wishes, slowly slinking out of the room and back to the harbor. He’s got some work to do down there that will distract him from how right Emma is.

It’s not good form. He knows it’s not good form to ask a lady to willingly enter back into a horrible situation. But this is his family they’re talking about. Two of the three most important people in his life are in danger, and he’s got to do something to make sure they’re okay.

On his way down to his office, Killian finds himself trying to shake off the wolf within. It’s rearing its head in no uncertain terms and with the full moon approaching within the week, it’s harder to keep from transforming and running back to the sheriff’s station, just to keep an eye on Emma.

That’s what he does, though, when the full moon rises a few days later. Instead of laying at Emma’s side as he has in the past months, Killian prowls around the house’s perimeter, wary of any sort of attack from Gold. His ears whirl atop his head at every crack of a branch and unidentifiable creature’s coo.

Liam takes his place at Emma’s beck and call, the two of them sitting in the living room and watching game shows on low volume. Despite his lack of supernatural instincts, Liam’s been able to pick up on their moods of late. It doesn’t hurt that Emma still hasn’t one hundred percent forgiven or accepted his decision to try and find Milah, causing further tension in the house. Killian can tell Liam knows something is amiss, and though his brother hasn’t asked specifics, he’s stepped up as a sounding board for Emma and another set of eyes on the situation as a whole.

Killian can barely keep track of his inner monologue, his thoughts moving in untidy rivers at miles a second. But Emma, apparently, can make heads and tails of at least parts of it. Her groan filters out of the house. Killian’s one ear flickers toward the window as he comes to a stop. She’s got to be okay, but he’s got to make sure.

“Your brother is insane,” she says to Liam.

He laughs heartily. “You’re just now figuring that out?” Killian can see his brother nod vaguely in the direction of Emma’s ever-growing belly. “Little late for that now, don’t you think?”

Emma smacks him, the thud muffled through the window glass. “You know that’s not what I mean,” she says. “He keeps repeating the same thing over and over and it’s giving me a headache.”

He’s pretty unaware of any sort of coherent thought running through his mind. Unless speaking to Emma through the bond, his times as a wolf are more emotional waves.

“What’s he saying?”

“‘Not on my watch.’”

Yeah, that sounds about right. If he had to put words to the feelings currently pumping through him, those would work.

“Really?” Liam asks. His voice goes higher and sounds incredulous. Then there’s thumps of footsteps and the screech of a window opening. “You couldn’t be more creative!? After all those curses I taught you?!”

Killian barks, the closest noise he can get to scoffing in his current form, while Emma’s laughter bubbles out the window.

“He means well, give him a break.”

Liam grumbles, something including arse and fucking, before closing the window once more. “I think he's at a loss of what to do while you can’t run about with him,” he offers.

Emma hums absentmindedly. “He’s still got some time to figure it out.”

The sofa creaks as Liam sits down again. “I know you’re worried about him,”  he says. “He’s just as worried about you.”

“But he can do something about it,” Emma whines. “At least he can pretend he’s feeling productive if he’s making rounds about the house, keeping an eye out for that guy and,” she raises her voice, knowing full well he can hear her but wants to emphasize her point, “planning his horrible unrescue mission!” She sighs and, he’d bet his place in bed with her, starts cradling her stomach. “All I can do is sit here and watch bad television and worry.”

“With your favorite brother-in-law,” Liam adds. “You forgot that part.” Emma moans and there’s a thwump. Killian woofs softly, his version of a laugh. She must have hit his brother with a pillow. “Look, you can’t worry about anybody but yourself right now. You’re being productive even as you sleep. You’ve got to focus on keeping the two of you healthy and let Killian panic about you and the rest of us.”

He yelps, unamused with Liam’s words. Emma giggles.

“He doesn’t appreciate the panicking comment.”

“Suck my dick, little brother!” Liam shouts. Killian shakes his head and takes up his watch again. As he walks away, he can hear Emma laugh again, the sound growing quieter the further he gets from the window. When he comes back around, he spots her, fast asleep, her head settled on Liam’s shoulder. Her thoughts are calm - her feelings something along the jumbled mess of “this isn’t Killian, but he’s warm and he makes me feel safe.” His brother’s got his arm over her shoulder, protecting her as she rests. The lights of the television blink in different colors as Liam flicks through the channels. It’s not an ideal way to spend a full moon, but it’s comforting to have a pack worth protecting.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened and your tray tables are up and stowed away. We're beginning our descent into mayhem. Sort of. It's a shortie but a goodie.   
> As always, many thanks to killarious, wellhellotragic, and the mods at captainswanbigbang for all they've done during this endeavor. Literally, you would not be seeing this if it weren't for them.

Milah is an enigma. He uses all of his internet prowess and research abilities and comes up with nothing. Then he taps into Swan’s seniority at the sheriff's station and at least comes up with a couple of Milahs, a couple thousand Golds, but neither share both names.

He wracks his brain for literally anything else he knows about her. He searches her name along with New York, with boats, with crime and other horrible ideas he hopes she was never involved in. And still nothing.

“Didn’t you say she had a son?”

Killian’s squinting at the TV one evening, not looking, and not seeing, but Emma’s voice cuts through everything.

“What was that?” he asks.

She looks at him instead of the screen, handful of popcorn halfway to her mouth. “Every time you tell the story, you mention how she had a kid,” she explains. “Have you tried looking for the son?”

It takes him three more days of wracking his brain and searching every nook and cranny of his memory before he remembers Milah’s son’s name.

Neal. Neal Gold. He can work with that.

Four results pop up when he searches the name in the New York area in the sheriff’s database. He calls the first two and gets no answers, only machines.

But the third time's the charm, they say.

“Hello?” THe voice on the other side of the line surprises Killian, a welcome change from the robotic tones he’d been listening to. It’s gruff, like he’d just woken up, and curt.

“Hello there,” Killian greet shim. “Um, this might be incorrect, but I was hoping to speak with your mother. Lass called Milah?”

The man groans. “That’s uncalled for, man.”

Killian furrows his brow,glancing around his office. “I’m sorry,  don’t understand,” he says. “I’m an old acquaintance of hers and I haven’t been able to find any contact inf-”

“My mom died four years ago,” Neal says, stern and short. “Car accident. Eighteen wheeler t-boned her.”

“Oh.” He tries not to feel as crestfallen as he is. Resilient Milah, fallen by something mundane as a truck. There goes that plan of his to save his pack. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

From the other end, Neal sighs. “You can stop looking for her now,” he says. “Don’t call this number again.”

“Wait!” He doesn’t mean to shout into the microphone, but apparently a new idea forms quick as lightning in his mind. He doesn’t hear the tell-tone click of an end call in the pause and then moan, and Killian takes it as a victory. “Perhaps you can help me.”

“Look, man, I don’t want to continue to donate to whatever cause she was into,” Neal says. “Money’s tight as it is, I’ve got a kid on the way-”

“No, nothing like that,” Killian corrects him. He takes a deep breath and the takes the plunge. “You were probably too young to recall, but you and your mother left your father on a ship. Took you from Manhattan to New Jersey.” Neal grunts, hopefully as some sort of affirmative, for Killian’s sake, for he continues. “I was the captain of that ship.”

There’s another long pause. It unnerves him, but Killian hopes against hope that this man will help him in his quest.

“What do you want?” Neal finally asks.

After a slight sigh in relief, Killian says, “It’s a bit of a long story, but your father feels, by doing so so long ago, I’ve wrong him.”

It goes silent again, save for the sounds of traffic in the background. “And?”

Killian’s confusion grows. “And it wouldn’t be a problem except I’ve got a growing family meself that he’s threatening to hurt.”

Neal gives a deprecating chuckles. “Yeah, sounds like him.”

“I had hoped that you might want to reconnect with your father. Calm him down, tell him of your life so far and your mother, how she lived after him.”

The silence only now becomes unnerving. Killian strains for anything that sounds like a living being on the other end of the phone line, and nearly comes up short.Neal sighs again, heavier than before, and Killian hears the scratching of something against something else. “I wish I could help you, man, but I haven't even thought about my father since I was a kid,” Neal explains. “I don’t have any plans to change that.”

“Please,” Killian pleads. “Simply speak with him. Long enough for me and my family to get away from him.”

He knows it’s coming, but the tsk and negative sound that ushers form Neal still hurts him. “Sorry, man,” he says. “You’re on your own.” And then he hangs up. Conversation over and done.

But not for Killian. This is his family he’s talking about. Emma and the pup. He has to do whatever it takes, go wherever he needs to and convince whoever to get Gold away from his family.

Neal is the ticket. Killian knows that. He’s sure Neal knows it, but is refusing, frankly, on good terms.

That’s not going to stop Killian from trying to bring Gold’s son back into his life. So that’s the next step, logically speaking. Killian’s got to bring Neal to Storybrooke, Gold’s last known location, to bring him out of hiding and into the hands of the law.

“Killian, you really shouldn’t do this.” Of course Liam’s going to try and dissuade him from his mission. He’s his elder brother, first and foremost, but Liam also knows that the wolf within Killian isn’t necessarily going to approach Neal in the most peaceful of ways.

“I’ve got to,” Killian says, shoving things into a duffle bag haphazardly. “I haven’t been able to sleep soundly since I saw him. Knowing that he could possibly hurt Emma and the babe is a pall over what should be a happy time in all of our lives.”  Whipping around, Killian glares at his brother. “Neal is coming back here to talk this out with Gold. I’ll not give him a choice.”

And then he goes back to packing clothes that don’t even make sense for his hopefully short trip to New York.

Liam sits on the mattress, watching Killian cautiously. He doesn’t say anything for a while, until a mumbled, “Be careful, little brother,” comes from his mouth. Killian turns around, shaking his head and opening his mouth, reminding Liam yet again that he doesn’t need it, Emma does, but Liam holds up a hand to stop him. “For the umpteenth time, I’ll watch out for her. I’m as invested in this as you are.” His hand falls to his side, slapping against his thigh. “You, on the other hand, are walking in without back up to call. And, as your elder brother, I am allowed to worry for you.”

With everything they’ve been through together in life - the end of the parents, the foster system, lycanthropy - Killian often forgets how much Liam has either given up or done for him. Taking a moment from his packing craze, Killian sets down the clothes he’s holding to embrace his brother.

“I will be fine, Liam,” he reassures. “If I’m not, you can feel free to murder me in my sleep.”

Laughing, Liam claps him on the back. “I’m holding you to your word, little brother.”

When he tells Emma of his plan, though, she is not as calm and good-humored as Liam.

“Killian Jones, you are a fucking moron if you think for a moment I’m letting you go without me.” Her hands rest akimbo on her hips at the end of their bed, her face furrowed in anger and concern. He, on the other hand, is throwing his toiletries bag in the duffle, and spins around in frustration when she declares her intent.

“Like hell you are, Emma.”

“I have no problem mauling you, even in human form!” she yells, gesturing wildly, her teeth bared. “You can’t go, Killian! What if I go into labor or something?”

“You won’t,” he assures her in a calm voice. Cautiously, Killian approaches her, lowering her arms until the rest, together, on her stomach. He strokes her knuckles with one hand, the stretch of her stomach with the other. “As much as we both would love to meet the little one, we both know you’ve got a little bit of a ways to go.”

He’s so intent on soothing her nerves, on the steady movement of his fingers against her body, that he nearly overlooks the sounds of sniffing. When he looks up, Killian finds tears threatening to fall from her eyes. Emma’s shoulders start to stutter.

“Killian,” she says, voice wobbly. “Please, don’t go,” she begs. “Don’t leave me.”

It’s only then that he comes to he comes to the realization that she’s afraid he’s running away from her, from the life they’ve created together. It makes sense: she’s in a fragile state as it is, and here he is, running off on some mission with no real reason.

He won’t have that.

Taking her face in is hands, Killian frames her cheeks with his thumbs and wipes away the stray tears that have fallen. “I’m coming back, Swan. You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he promised her. He presses his lips to her forehead before adding, “I want you to be safe. This is the best way for me to accomplish that.”

“Are you sure?” she asks. He nods, and she follows suit. “You’re going to come back,” she states, matter-of-factly.

“I swear on my life and Liam’s, I will come back to you.”

Emma’s silent for a moment ,searching his face and his eyes for any hint of the lie he isn’t telling. “Good,” she finally deems with a sniffle. She wipes at her own eyes. “I’m going to murder the both of you if you don’t. Just rip you to pieces with my teeth and leave different parts of your body all spread out over the woods.”

Killian chuckles. “I love it when you threaten my life,” he jests, kissing her fully on the lips. He pulls away to her smile and while it’s not exactly the situation either of them want to be on, he thinks that it’s good enough as is.


	13. Chapter 13

When the New York skyline reappears in the windshield of his truck, Killian can’t help but let his jaw drop. It really hasn’t been that long since he’s seen it, but it still takes his breath away. It feels like eons - his life has changed immensely since the last time Killian roamed the streets and alleys of Manhattan.

And knowing that he’ll only be able to see the skyline from the other side of the river in New Jersey...well, it makes him a little bitter.

It’s embarrassing how easily Killian can find Neal’s address - at least once he was already looking him up in the database at the station while Emma was in the restroom. He’s in front of the apartment complex he’d heard from the phone before he can think twice about it. Searching the call box, Killian spots and presses the button next to the _Gold_ slide. The door buzzes open.

The conversation is short on all fronts. Short words, short tempers, short length. Before Kilian really comprehends what’s going on, he’s stalking back down the stairs and outside.

Neal follows him, not ready for the conversation to end.

“Really, though, man, I’m curious as to why in your fucking right mind you think showing up on my doorstep was a great idea?” he asks, shouting it down the steps as Killian crosses the street toward the truck.

“You’ve got a lass, arse!” Killian rises to the jibe. “What wouldn’t you do to keep her safe?”

“I wouldn’t ask a fucking stranger to reunite and make amends with a man who fucking made his wife run away!”

Killian nearly yells back words he’d surely regret - this is not at all going to plan, he was supposed to kindly persuade Neal to visit Storybrooke - but his phone rings. Whipping it out of his pocket, Killian finds Liam of all people calling him. With Neal in the midst of his barrage of insults and comebacks, Killian swipes at his phone screen and holds the phone to his ear.

“She’s gone.”

Two words that make Killian’s blood chill, if not come to a halt in every vein and artery in his body.

“What?” Killian asks, waving at Neal to shut the fuck up. “Liam, what do you mean, she’s gone?”

His brother’s voice is frantic, obviously broken up about whatever’s happened back at home. “I had the late shift and Elsa was staying at the house with her. Elsa just rang me. She thought Emma was in the bathroom, but she went to check on her and she’s nowhere to be found.” Killian runs his hand through his hair, his eyes wide and jaw hanging. “I’ve got everyone out looking for her.”

There’s only one possible explanation. “It’s him,” Killian says with conviction.

“What’s wrong?” Neal’s made his way to Killian’s side, his voice calmer now, but anger and frustration still ebbing off him in waves.

Killian turns on him, the phone still pressed tightly to his ear. “Your father’s kidnapped my pregnant girlfriend.”

“Sounds like him,” Neal chuckles out heartlessly. “What a dick.”

Back in Storybrooke, Liam calls for Killian’s attention once more. “I’m going to find her, Killian, I promise you,” he pledges.

“You sure as hell will,’ Killian replies. “I’ve finished up here in Jersey. I'm on my way back now.” And with that, Killian hangs up and glares at Neal. “You’re coming with me,” Killian says with the strongest conviction he’s ever been able to muster. He grabs Neal’s arm and yanks him otward hte truck.

But Neal, unexpectedly, fights back. “Like hell I am,” he growls, pulling his arm free. “I haven’t so much as set foot in the city since I left it as a kid. I’m not going with a stranger to meet the man who abused and hurt my mother.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Killian comes up behind Neal and shoves him toward the cab. “My love and my child are in danger because of your father. You are his son. I will give him his family and he will give me mine.”

“Says who?”

“Me,” Killian growls. He can feel the wolf inside threaten to escape, his nostrils flared and his teeth bared. Something in his expression must frighten Neal, for he gets in to the truck’s cab with little more complaint.

The ride from Neal’s apartment in New Jersey back to Storybrooke usually runs around 6 hours. With his foot on the gas pedal from the moment they squeal out of the parking spot, Killian makes the drive in four. It’s silent the entire time, Killian lost in his thoughts while Neal probably stews in nerves and confusion of the past couple of hours.

Killian head straight to the sheriff’s station once they reach Storybrooke, peeling into the first open parking spot he can find. The car is barely in park when Killian slams his door shut and storms into the station. He can hear Neal’s hesitant footsteps, much slower, behind him. People are bustling about, Liam in the center of them all, shouting directions and checking papers Leroy hands to him. Killian barges up to his brother.

“What do you know so far?”

Liam shakes his head. “We’ve searched the place he’s staying, our house, all of her usual haunts,” he tells him. Graham comes up to him and says some sheriff gargon that Liam nods enthusiastically to. “We’re sending search parties out ot the woods just now.”

Nodding, Killian turns to Neal, who stands awkwardly behind him. “Stay here,” Killian commands. “Your father’s going to end up here in the end, no matter how long it takes for me to find him.”

Neal nods, but doesn’t say a word. Sensing the direness of the situation around - and the four hours of the drive gave him plenty of time to contemplate his decision - he heads through the bustling station ot the waiting chairs. He sits and settles in for what’s sure to be an even longer evening.

Killian turns back to Liam. The wolf inside him is furious raring to get out of the station and look for Emma.

Liam scrubs at his forehead in frustration. “This is my fault,” he mutters.

“Yes, it is!” At his brother’s gaping mouth, Killian throws his arm out. “You left her alone! You promised you would watch out for her!” Licking his lips, he shakes his head and begins pacing. THere’s too much going on in his brain right now, he can’t think straight. Every thought is just muddled with the primal instinct to _protect the pack_. “No, I apologize, I'm frustrated.”

“With good reason,” Liam assures him. “I shouldn’t have left her, but she was tired and she’s almost to her leave time. It made more sense for her to have one last girls’ night than for Ruby or Leroy to take a second night shift or for Emma to come and spend the night here.”

“No, I know.” Running a hand through his hair, Killian tries to stop himself from overreacting and completely losing control over what little part of the situation he has control over. He looks to Liam at his side. “I’m frightened for her, Liam. I don’t know what Gold might do to her.” He shakes his head again, correcting himself mentally before doing so verbally. “To them.”

Liam rests his hand on Killian’s shoulder. “We’re going to find her, little brother. This town isn’t all that large.” Quickly surveying the scene unfolding before them, he pulls Killian over to a quieter, more private corner. Even still, he whispers, “Although it might be worth tuning in to those more - ” He licks his lips as he contemplates his words - “predatory instincts of yours. We haven’t brought the dogs in, but I feel like you’d have a better sense for finding her, quite literally.”

“You’re right.”

His brother nods. “I know.” Liam pushes him off in the direction of the door. The back door leading straight to the forests surrounding town. “Go. I’ll hold down this fort.”

Killian gives him a singular nod. “Thanks, big brother.”

“Bring her home, Killian.”

He nods once more and rushes out of the station. The back door is barely open before Killian sprints to the treeline. Even as a human, he can run faster than an average man. He starts sniffing at the air, trying to find any hint of Emma. There’s the slightest scent of her, but it could be from his clothes or even Liam’s. It’s not worth following, and that frustrates him even further.

His desire to find her becomes so strong that, without any warning, his muscles rip apart, as do his clothes. His painful shout turns into a howl and he completely transforms outside of the cycle of the moon. His adrenaline is pumping.

He needs to find her.

_Pack._

On all fours, Killian runs through the woods. He can feel the pricks of stick and splinters in his paws, but the further in to the forest he gets, the more he loses her scent.

And then he catches a taste of her in the wind, coming from way out of town. Killian makes a hairpin turn and heads in that direction. It’s the closest he’s felt of her in days. She’s got to be in the woods, he thinks, hurt and bleeding and dying or any combination of those. There aren’t any buildings this far out. He tries to reach out to her, tries to communicate with her in his head, to no avail. And that is the most frightening fact of all.

His lungs begin to protest, but Killian pushes himself harder.

_Pack._

There _can’t_ be anything out this way. He’s got to be close to the next town’s border or state park territory. His eyes scan the forest floor for any sign of Emma and is continually stunned when he finds none. Her scent is still lingering, fractionally stronger with each step he takes, so he’s at least traveling in the correct direction.

But then something catches his eye, off in the distance. Eaves. Eaves of a house. There’s a house out here. Old, rundown, creepy as all get out with the windows on the ground floor boarded up and the glass in those on the second floor broken.

And Emma’s scent is the strongest Killian’s smelled since he left to find Neal in New Jersey.

He sprints into the house, barreling through one of the boarded up windows. Her scent is overwhelming, emanating from above him. He doesn’t think, acts on instinct as he bolts up the stairs.

And then he hears her. Faintly, from the far end of the house. She isn’t saying words, but she’s make noises of distress that edges Killian nearly to his breaking point.

He busts through the door, breathing heavily. He’s entered the master bedroom. It has to be. There’s a ton of space and an abundance of windows overlooking the trees. In the center of room is a now dilapidated four-poster bed. In its heyday, this room most likely served as quite the safe haven for its occupants. It was probably quite lovely.

It’s not now.

Emma’s tied up on the old mattress, gagged with a scarf and lying on her side. Her hands are behind her back, forcing her stomach to bulge out from the rest of her body. His eyes pick up movement at her belly: a hand or a foot further stretching her skin in protest. Her eyes are red and puffy, like she’s been crying for a very long time, and that is not the sort of look Killian ever wants to see on her face ever again.

Even in human form, her senses are heightened, her body’s natural fight or flight instincts kicking in. Her gaze skitters about the room until it lands on him. She starts screaming at him through the cloth in her mouth, her cheeks growing red from her efforts. He stalks over toward her, carefully taking inventory of what he can see of her. She’s bruised, her hair stringy. The closer he gets to her, the louder her noises become.

Whatever’s been preventing their bond from freely flowing thus far breaks and Killian understands, loud and clear, what Emma is trying to verbalize.

_RUN!_

But it’s too late.

The slamming of the bedroom door shocks him. He whirls around to find Gold standing behind the door, an impishly creepy grin on his face.

“What a pleasure to see you again,” he says. Tilting his head to the side, he adds, “Such a shame that we meet under these circumstances.”

A growl rips itself from within Killian’s vocal chords. He jumps on the bed and crouches between Gold and Emma’s prone body. She keeps trying to say something, obviously no longer the warning she had been trying to give him previously, but certainly something as equally as pressing for her.

“Yes, she is quite lovely, isn't she?” Gold taunts. He walks on the tips of his toes, his cane mysteriously absent now. Nodding in Emma’s direction, he says, “We’ve gotten to know each other quite well in our short time together, haven’t we, dearie?”

Emma’s voice grows louder, though not anymore distinguishable. Whatever she saying, the displeasure and anger is evident in her voice. Despite everything, Killian has to think of her fondly: always a fiery one, his Swan.

“It’s a shame that she’s got to go.”

Fire burns through Killian’s entire body. This is his _pack_ , he will protect them until the bitter end. He starts shouting and yelling, trying to verbally assault Gold into submission, only to realize that he’s still in wolf form. The only person he can speak to in his current predicament _is_ his pack.

Emma.

He whips around, his tail swishing behind him, to look at her. She’s stopped crying for now, her voice quiet. With his snout, killian nudges the gag cloth out of her mouth. She coughs, quite a task in her current state, and catches her breath. Softly, he taps at her shoulder, trying to get her attention. He wants her to act as his voice, to tell this asshole imp of a man what he thinks of him.

“You fucking cocksucking sweaty ball rag of a man!”

Clearly, he’s not the only one who’s been having trouble expressing their feelings. That’s all Emma. Granted, Killian’s turn of phrase was just as dirty, but she's been the one tied up for who knows how long.

“You have no regard for basic human decency, especially for a pregnant woman who’s got to pee!”

Through their bond, Killian inquires as to Emma’s wellbeing. He can tell she really does have to go to the restroom, and her second foremost thought is for the pup. She looks at him, anger burning in her own eyes, and nods. “I’m going to be alright, I think,” she reassures him. And he’s happy to hear it.

But reality comes crashing back into him.

“Ah,” Gold chimes. “So he’s so riled up that he can’t rehumanize.” His laughter makes Killian’s fur stand up. “How interesting.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Emma growls. “You can’t hold me here. Half of town has got to be looking for me right now.” Killian sends a mental affirmation assuring her that, yes, someone is out there looking for her. He senses a small sigh of relief in the bond before her eyes turn back to Gold. “Now, fucking untie me before I pee myself and murder you.”

Tsking, Gold shakes his head. “How I wish I could, dearie,” he mutters, twirling his wrists and coming far too close for either of their likings. “But, as I’ve told your wolf here, everything comes with a price. He took my family from me. Now I take his family from him.”

Killian growls and pounces to standing. At the same time, Gold approaches the bed and Emma says, “Like hell you will.”

He jumps. Killian throws himself at Gold, who transforms into a wolf at the drop of a hat. Killian himself is thrown off his course. He’s never seen someone do that at any time other than the full moon. The man’s stature is smaller than even his human form, but whatever injury he might have is gone.

“You can’t kill me!” Killian’s taken aback when he hears Gold’s voice smacking around his head. “I made you what you are today! You were nothing without me. I am your alpha, your creator!”

“I am not nothing!”

“He’s not nothing!”

Emma’s voice is vehement as his thoughts are as their declarations coincide. She makes it even better, more harsh, by adding, “He’s a better man than you will ever be!”

(Later, when he’s not fighting for their safety, the cockles of his heart will warm and flourish. For now, he’s got other thoughts at the forefront of his mind.)

The fight continues, with nips to necks and kicking at the hind legs. Somehow, Killian pins Gold down as he snarls and spits recklessly.

“LIsten, you slimy git,” he growls. “Your son. Milah had a son with your sorry ass. I’ve found him.” That calms Gold, surprisingly. His breathing is still heavy, his eyes flighty around the room and his ears twitching, but he’s not biting at Killian’s maw, so Killian continues. “He’s here, in town. Grown, has his own child on the way.” He slightly eases off of Gold. “Speak with him, like a proper adult.”

“Leave us alone,” Emma adds, her voice low and threatening.

“You have family,” Killian says. “Just because your heart is cold doesn’t mean that his isn’t.” He backs off quickly and returns to Emma’s side. “You don’t _deserve_ to have a family, in my opinion.”

And with that, Killian attacks, shoving Gold out the window and barking, “So stay away from mine!” in his head. He knows the imp can hear him. It won’t do much, but he’s out of sight for now, and therefore not a concern. That fall will at least wound him enough to slow him down, if not render him completely immobile for the moment.

Emma gasps from behind him, making Killian spin around and stalk back to her. She’s still tied up, and with a little effort, Killian frees her from binds. She stretches a bit while he curls up around her before her hands settle on his head.

“We’re okay,” she murmurs. Emma pets his face, holding it up to hers and kissing his snout. Even now, she rests her head against his forehead, a little sob bubbling up. “I love you.”

“And I you,” he tells her. Shaking his head, Kilian licks her cheek. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“Might have had something to do with the adrenaline. Fear or something,” she reasons. “I might have also accidentally blocked you out somehow when I was trying to figure out how to get out of here. I have no idea.”

They let the quiet simmer around them, Gold’s whimpers floating up from the forest ground. He must be quite injured, Killian thinks with perverted happiness.

“Did he say what he was going to do to you?” Killian asks.

Emma shrugs. “He mentioned a couple of ideas.”

A groan rips from his throat, and Killian shoots a glance toward the window. “I promised to keep you both safe.”

“A promise you kept in the end,” Emma reminds him. But then she shifts her body, pulling herself up further into a sitting position. “But a promise you’re at risk of breaking if you don’t untie my legs and get me to the toilet in this house or outside to a bush.” Killian laughs and begins working on the ties around her ankles. “I’m not kidding, Killian. I’m going to die of anemic poisoning, I’ve had to pee so bad since he kidnapped me.”

He pulls the rope free with his teeth, a smirk around his bared teeth. “I think the word you’re looking for, love, is uremia,” he corrects her.

Scooting to the edge of the mattress, Emma pauses a moment before standing. “Killian, I love you,” she says, “but I couldn’t give two shits about the right word if I tried right now.” Forcing herself up, Emma shoves his attempt at chivalry away. “Out of the way.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends! merry belated christmas! I know I'm supposed to be posting on Fridays, but I'm leaving town (and wifi) tonight, so I thought I'd spend the time before anyone gets to work posting this. :)  
> thanks as always to killiarious, wellhellotragic, and captainswanbigbang for all the awesome work they've done. hope what's left of 2018 treats you well and that 2019 sets you up for the best year yet!

When he’s calm enough to change back to human form, Killian digs out his phone and calls Liam down at the station. Bless his elder brother, Killian can hear the sob he holds back when he hears that Emma’s alright. He feels emotional in the same way, just can’t have the breakdown Liam might be having right now.

As he hangs up, Killian searches for his Swan. Emma’s sitting under a copse of trees at the end of the drive. She’s beautiful in the crisp evening air, her eyes closed as if she’s taking a nap. Which, in all likely reality, she probably is. It’s been a long and trying day for the both of them.  
The _three_ of them, he mentally corrects himself.  
They’re all safe.  
He reaches her side just as the lights of first responders break through the spaces in the forest. Their sirens startle him slightly, but Emma merely opens her eyes and relaxes further into the earth beneath her. Four police cars lead the pack, followed shortly by an ambulance.  
“You shouldn’t have,” Emma says sarcastically. Killian knows without looking she’s holding out a hand, silently asking for his help to stand. He grants it to her - as if he would do anything else - and watches as she brings herself up.  
“To be fair, I didn’t,” Killian says with a shrug. She squeezes his hand, gaining his attention and begging the question hanging between them. Shrugging again, Killian supplies, “I told Liam you were okay.”  
“And he apparently didn’t listen.”  
“As much as you wish you weren’t, love, and as much as you can pretend that you’re invincible, you _are_ pregnant,” he gently reminds her. His arm comes around her shoulders. Emma tilts her head until it rests on his shoulders. Connected like this, he can definitely feel the fatigue wafting off of her, the stress stretching her muscles. Both pairs of eyes watch the investigation unfold before them; Liam, of course, is heading up operations. Killian kisses the top of her head. His eyes follow his other hand as it comes to rest on Emma’s belly. “There’s a pup in there who needs looking after.”  
He can feel her eyes roll as her hand comes up to slap him in the sternum. “Trust me, she’s fine,” Emma assures him. Exhaling heavily, she straightens up. “Well, let’s get this over with.” She leaves him to his own thoughts, approaching the EMTs already unloading an unnecessary gurney.  
Killian, however, feels starry-eyed and struck with awe. A lot has happened in the past, oh, 48 hours, far too many conversations and revelations to process in a timely matter. His mind’s probably just filed away Neal agreeing to come to Storybrooke and discuss matter with his father.  
But this is the coup de grace. Because as his Swan nonchalantly revealed, both of his girls are fine. Both.  
His eyes widening, Killian scrubs his hand over his face. Then he rakes it through his hair. And then he stands there, watching Emma reluctantly accept the ministrations of the EMTs from afar, hands on his hips.   
She can’t have said that and meant it, right? She’s tired and coming down from an adrenaline high, not to mention any potential mental or physical trauma she might be experiencing. It was a mere slip of the tongue. It had to be.  
Slowly, Killian makes his way to the ambulance, its sirens gone quiet until its next emergency, muddling his way through the brink of a mental breakdown as he dodges officers taking evidence and such. Emma’s sitting on the metal ledge on the back of the medical truck, one of those silly aluminium blankets wrapped over her shoulders. She looks frustrated with the medics asking her questions, her eyes on the verge of rolling out of her head. Still, she sits and nods until he comes up to them, catching the tail end of their conversation.  
“Just watch how much you exert yourself for a couple days,” the EMT says, patting Emma on the shoulder. “Take a day or two off, catch up on your Netflix queue.”  
“You sound just like him and his brother.”  
The medic shoots Killian a glance. “Sheriff Swan, I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure they want the best for you, just like we all do.”  
Emma sighs. “I know, Craig. Thank you.”  
Unable to say anything, Killian nods to the EMTs. They take their leave, heading back to report Emma’s condition for the police report.  
He scratches behind his ear, unsure of how to address the entire situation that’s presented itself to him.   
“I’m fine,” Emma reassures him, grabbing his hand. She smiles softly, looking up at him. Sure, he was worried for her, he always is, but that’s not his main concern at the moment.   
It takes him a couple more seconds to formulate the question he wishes to ask. When it comes out, all he can say is, “ _She’s_ fine?”  
Emma hums in confusion for a second. “Yeah. Was that something I didn’t tell you?”  
Killian laughs, straight up chortles, releasing all the nerves he’s had pent up for days. “I thought you told the doctor, and I am quoting you directly, ‘This kid was a surprise, so might as well hold out to the end.’”

Inhaling through her teeth, Emma responds, “I did.” She squints, her nose scrunching up in the adorably recognizable way that she does when she’s feeling a bit guilty. “I don’t know, call it instinct or something, but we’re having a girl.”

Brow raised, Killian nudges her, swinging their hands gently. “How sure would you say you are?”

Emma winces again, her head swaying from side to side. “Like, 99 percent sure.” Killian feels his jaw drop and hang perilously close to the ground. Shrugging, Emma continues, “I don’t know! It’s just sort of this vibe, sort of like our bond. There aren’t any words, but I’m confident that the pup here,” she gestures toward her stomach before looking him straight in the eye, “is a little girl.”

“A girl.” It’s unbelievable. Every day since Emma told him, Killian’s had to reconcile with the fact that they’ll actually be parents in a matter of months. But now, armed with the knowledge that he’s most likely going to be father to a _daughter_ , he’s gobsmacked. He grabs Emma’s cheeks and all but yanks her into yet another passionate kiss and embrace. When he pulls back, she’s got this smile on her face that he’s sure is even dopier on his face. “Thank you, my love,” he whispers. Then he sits up straight, his face serious. “She’s not dating until she’s 30.”

Laughing out right, Emma caresses his cheek, the scratch of her nails comforting through his facial hair. “She’s not even here yet and you’re a mess.”

Their conversation is put on hold as Liam, official sheriff’s office face on, comes over.  He brushes off his hands and sticks his notepad in his back pocket. “So he’s injured, but under arrest for kidnapping at least,” he explains, looking at the pair of them. “Probably something else like reckless endangerment of a child or something. EMTS will take him to the hospital and then we’ll book him.” Sighing, Liam rubs at his brow and then reaches for Emma, gently holding her forearm. “Are you okay, Emma?”

She shakes her head, an exasperated chuckle issuing from her mouth. “As I told your brother here, we are fine. Even the professionals say so,” she assures him. “A little shaken up and a little sore because I don’t bend that way anymore, but otherwise still healthy on all fronts.” Pointing at her stomach, Emma adds, “Still pregnant.”

“Yes, I deduced that,” Liam laughs. Then he glances at Killian. His mind isn’t keeping up with the conversation completely. He’s still stuck on the fact that they’re going to have a daughter and how he isn’t going to allow her out of the house with a boy ever. “Killian? You there? Would you like us to rehash the conversation there, little brother?”

Killian shakes his head, breaking himself out of his thoughts of the future. He looks to Emma, whose hand has, at some point, slid into his. “Does he know?” he asks.

With a small grin and a scoff, she shakes her head. “Do you really think that’s something I would tell Liam before I tell you, the father of this child?”

“Tell me what?”

Cocking his brow, Killian squeezes Emma’s hand. “May I tell him?”

“Tell me what? He asks again, this time a little more concerned. “What’s going on? You said you were alright.”

Emma nods in response to Killian’s question and he is helpless to the bright smile that rocks his face. He looks to Liam as he moves his arm to wrap it around her shoulders and pulls her close. “Despite telling the doctor she wanted to keep it a secret, Swan here has just informed me that she’s quite sure we are going to be the proud parents of a daughter.”

“A daughter?” Liam repeats breathlessly. “A little girl?” His smile is identical to Killian’s when he claps his hands over his mouth and laughs into them. Then he grabs his brother’s free hand and pumps it up and down enthusiastically in congratulations. Together, they all laugh in happiness.

And then Emma’s face falls a little bit as her laughter turns into expectant surprise. “Oh no,” she mumbles.

Killian’s hands fly to her stomach and Liam goes to hold her as if she’s about to fall. “What’s wrong?” Liam asks as Killian asks, “Are you okay? Is it the baby?”

Shaking her head and chuckling, Emma waves them off. “Nope, still good,” she reassures them. “No, I just realized that you two are going to fight for her affections from the moment she’s born.” Looking to Liam, she says, “Are you going to keep her from dating until she’s 30 as well?”

“Of course,” Liam says vehemently. “But if and when she decides to go behind your backs, Uncle Liam will be there to help hide their relationship and be there to pick up the pieces of her broken heart.” He holds up his hands, conceding to getting ahead of all of them, frankly. “So long as I am her favorite uncle, I’ll follow your lead.”

“I have a feeling that won’t be too difficult to swing,” Emma says, resting her hand on her stomach.

“I don’t know,” Killian jests, quickly scanning the scores of first responders, all who know Emma and care for their sheriff. “This town has quite a few contenders.”

“I was gonna say, I might have to concede to Craig,” Liam jokes.

“Yeah, but Craig doesn’t have an in like you do,” Emma reminds him with a smile.

Liam steps forward and gently hugs Emma as best he can. She presses her lips to his cheek before he pulls away. Then he slaps Killian on the shoulder and pulls him into a tight hug. “Congrats, little brother,” he says quietly before addressing the both of them with, “Congrats to the both of you.”

Emma and Killian barely have enough time to utter a thank you before Liam’s fellow officers are calling him back to the scene. He waves them away for another minute, his face one of obvious undesire, and looks back at Killian.

“I’ve got to get back to the station and tell his son. Might as well drop him off at the hospital as well while I’m at it. You guys want to catch a ride?” he asks.

Even if he weren’t standing next to her, still looking her over for any sign of harm, and even if they were connected by a bond that immediately floods with the feeling of no, Killian knows Emma’s answer would be “Not if hell had frozen over.” However, with recent events and a knack for not censoring herself lately, Killian squeezes her shoulder and responds to his brother’s offer for her.

“No, that’s okay, we can ride with someone else.”

Nodding, Liam gives them both one last hug before returning to his official duties as acting sheriff. He departs them with a warning: “I’m still going to be favorite uncle. Don’t let any of these blokes here convince you otherwise.”

Killian chuckles and Emma merely smiles. Her one hand cradles the bottom of her belly as the other strokes over it. Watching her do so makes a stupid silly grin grow on his face. One that she spots easily.

“You want to feel her?” she asks. WIthout waiting for his answer, she takes the hand that isn’t wrapped around her shoulders and places it on her stomach. Killian watches as she closes her eyes and leans her head on his shoulder. Their little girl wiggles around beneath his hand, a welcome relief.

(It’s not that he didn’t believe Swan. It’s just comforting to feel the evidence himself.)

“Talk to her,” Emma insists.

Of course, he does as she asks. Killian kneels before Emma, his hands carefully and precisely framing her stomach. He rests his forehead against her shirt, the pup scent wafting around ever so slightly at this distance.

“Hello there, little one,” he whispers. A foot reaches out and knicks the tip of his nose. He chuckles. “I'm so relieved you and your mum are okay.” He feels Emma’s fingers slide into his hair, scratching at his scalp, and he sighs. “You aren’t even here yet and you’ve already had quite the adventure, haven’t you?”

The longer he talks to her - no topic in particular gripping their interests - the more an overwhelming sense of love consumes him. If he weren’t already on his knees, he doesn’t see how he wouldn’t collapse. It leaves him breathless. There’s something off about it, something fluid but all encompassing. It’s as if he’s struggling to remember a word he knows exists and coming up empty.

“That’s her.” Emma’s voice still shows small signs of her trauma, harsh around the edges, but it’s strong. Killian stops talking for a moment and looks up at her. Despite her fingers in his hair, he half thought that Emma had fallen asleep standing up. Her eyes ease open and match his. “That feeling you don’t understand. That’s her. Every time you talk to her, that’s what I feel.”

It’s amazing. Incredible. Extraordinary. That their daughter loves him so much at this time in her life and he _gets to feel it_ through nothing less than a miracle. Moved, Killian stands quickly and wraps his arms around Emma. He pulls her into his embrace and kisses her soundly. Her laughter vibrates wonderfully against his lips. Her smile tastes of sunshine.   

“Already daddy’s little girl,” she remarks.

“Just like her mother, aye?” Killian bends down slightly as Emma laughs. He means to speak only to his daughter, knowing that Swan will hear him, but hoping she doesn’t choose to address it. “I love you, too,” he says to her stomach. “But we aren’t going to tell Uncle Liam that yet. Let’s let him think he’s going to have a fighting chance, aye?”

(Bless her heart, Emma tries to cover her laughter with a cough and fails.)


End file.
